So You Really Didn't Fall Off A Jungle Gym
by The Silent Rumble
Summary: Fenton Hardy was Charlie's worst nightmare. He couldn't exactly remember why, but he never trusted him. During a case which litterly puts the brothers at their wit's end, Don finds out the truth to what happened all those nights ago. SEQUEL: THE AFTERMATH
1. Meet The New Kid

Thanks to FraidyCat for the beta.

Jason

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I think I've much improved since my last Hardy Boys/numb3rs story, which went down the turf… well, fast. I'm going to let this story spin itself out, although I have it pretty much planned. Reviews and suggestions are nice.

Also, this takes place back when the house was Alan's. That means Megan and Larry are still on the show. I just couldn't see Alan imposing a sixteen year old on Charlie…

_Oh, one more thing. When I first posted the story, Charlie's age was 23. Now, I've moved his age up to 28, and I put Don's age at 33. _

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

28-year-old Charlie grumbled. He really had to use the restroom. And somebody had locked the stupid door, again.

It wasn't that he couldn't go to the one upstairs. He just thought that might take too long. "WHO THE HECK IS IN THERE?" he shouted.

He received no answer. Sighing, he pulled out the key off of the nearby table and turned it loose in the lock.

To his surprise, a roughly sixteen-year-old boy was there, frantically trying to get out the window. Forgetting all about the urge to go to the bathroom, Charlie shouted, "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?" He grabbed the teenager by his arms and violently shook him.

The teenager sunk to the ground and curled up to a ball on the floor. He didn't look Charlie in the eye, but silent tears spilled out, and he covered his face with his hands, with a look that said, "Please don't hurt me!"

Charlie mentally cursed himself for over- reacting. "DAD!", he called. "Who the heck is this kid?"

"Oh," Alan said absentmindedly, carrying a box of books to the garage. "This is Frank Hardy. You remember Fenton Hardy? I forgot to tell you…"

"Yes," Charlie said, his face one of pure hatred.

"Well," Alan said, ignoring Charlie's look and looking worriedly instead at Frank, who was still crumpled up in a ball, "I've agreed to foster him for awhile."

"But _why_?" Charlie had never liked Fenton Hardy. The man was a show-off, and used his kids for his own political pawns. The kids knew it, too, but didn't let their anger show through. At least, Charlie assumed they were angry – who wouldn't be, in their position?

Alan glanced at the shaking teen, and sighed. He had a pretty good idea what happened. "Go to the bathroom,", he sighed to Charlie. "Then we'll talk."

---------------------------------------------------------

_**Twenty minutes later**_

Don cursed. "Charlie's still not picking up his cell. Megan, what do you have on those guys?"

"Not much that's of any use," she replied. "We need him to run his data. How long can we hold b-boy?"

"Thirty more hours," Colby said. "Can you call your house, or Cal Csi?"

"He's not picking up at either place. I'm getting worried," Don admitted. "He went home to grab his laptop, and he's been gone for two hours!"

"I'll run by the house if he's not back in another hour," Colby said. "Look, in-between then and now, let's get together on this. We can't waste time panicking."

Don forced himself to slow down. "You're right."

While he had walked down the aisle, Colby sighed. "Don't even go there, Megan," he said at her curious glance.

------------------------------------------------------

Frank had been sent to his room so Alan and Charlie could talk. "Recently, he's had some pretty bad stuff happen to him. A gang attacked him… since then he hasn't been speaking. Awhile before that, though, he was kidnapped by a motorcycle gang Fenton was after, and he's been having wild mood swings ever since. Fenton tried sending him to his uncle's, but he seemed to only get worse. The gang attack certainly didn't help. Fenton sounded at his wit's end on the phone."

"When did all this happen?"

"It's been set to take place for about two weeks. He got here late last night."

"How did I not notice he was here?"

"I gave him the spare bedroom, Charlie. Do you always check it before you go to sleep?"

"No," Charlie admitted with a sigh. "What did he mean, he's been sending him to his uncle's?"

Alan shrugged. "He wouldn't say."

Charlie sighed. "The poor kid is probably scared out of his mind right now because of me," he said. "I kind of shook him up a little bit."

"I'll talk to him. In the meantime, you might want to get back to the office. You've been here over three hours." Alan suddenly had an idea. "Want to take Frank with you? It would give you two a chance to bond."

Charlie shrugged, and Alan went upstairs to ask Frank if he wanted to go, while Charlie gathered his papers.

Frank didn't verbally answer Alan, but he went back downstairs and started following Charlie around like a shadow, so it looked like he was interested. Ten minutes later, they were riding in the car together on the way to the office.

------------------------------------------------------

Charlie had to pull some considerable strings to get Frank a Visitor's Pass without a background check first, but he managed. Close to one full hour later, Charlie and Frank approached Don's desk in the bullpen. Don was just slamming the phone into the cradle, having tried again to reach Charlie. He lifted his head to yell at Colby when he saw his brother with the strange kid. He looked pretty young to be one of Charlie's students…but maybe he was another genius? "Who's this?", he asked, standing.

Frank immediately shrank behind Charlie, who ignored him in his haste to get out what he'd been waiting to say for so long. "Not now," he said impatiently. "I found some things on the case. You remember Kiplinger?"

"Yeah. That kid at the gas station. Why?"

"Well, I did a deeper background check. That 'kid' is actually 30 years old, and he has a hefty record. Drugs, gun running, you name it, he's probably done it. He was also arrested with – get this – Johnson."

"Our baseball guy," Don said. Things started to click. "Colby?"

"I'll get Johnson's prison records."

"Megan, can you also do me a favor and run a background check on the prison where they were at? David, can you call downstairs and tell them not to let Johnson go, and have them place him under arrest? After that, you and I are going after a warrant. We're going to search Johnson's house."

Frank watched all the activity flurry around him without saying something. He knew he could probably talk to these people, but he didn't want to risk it. He knew something about the case they didn't know, but he wasn't sure they'd believe him…

---------------------------------------------------------


	2. New Kid, Meet Oswald

A/N: Kudos to Fraidy Cat for beta'ing (I think that's how it's spelled.) This story would not be possible without her. She's helping me stay on track, and helping me keep it as realistic as it gets. A million kudos to her. Anyway. Thank you for all the reviews! This chapter's a little short… Sorry.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Frank was sitting in the breakroom playing on one of Charlie's old computers when a medium-height, dark-haired man stepped into the room.

"Hey, whatcha doin' with Charlie's laptop, dude? You his student, or something?", he demanded. "Or did you freakin' steal it? I don't like thieves! Dr. Eppes' saves important stuff on those things!" Frank's face turned white as his face paled. He shrank behind the trashcan, staring at the wall. He refused to look at Oswald or anyone else who entered the room.

Thankfully, Charlie picked that minute to walk into the door. "Hey,  
Oswald," he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Glad you could make it."

"Yeah, no problem." Oswald scratched his head. "Don't you hate coffee?"

Charlie smiled. "Don't like it very much. Working with the FBI, I've learned to tolerate it -- but why do you think the creamer's always gone from the teacher's lounge?" Charlie sighed and took a sip of the too-hot coffee. Startled, he set it down. "Anyway, I need your help."

"What's the matter?"

"Well, you remember the first time you were here? Somebody's involved in a whole bunch of stuff, and I think your prowess as a statistician can help on this one."

"Really? Cool. I'm going to need more detail on that, but before you launch into your explanations, who is he?" Oswald jerked his thumb towards Frank, who was still huddled in a ball behind the trashcan.

"Frank," Charlie replied, not letting his face show the hatred he felt towards Frank's father. "My dad's volunteering to foster him for awhile."

Oswald perceived his reticence, however, and decided it best to drop the subject. "Right. So about the case?"

"You remember your baseball algorithm, which picked up players who used steroids, right?"

"Of course," Oswald said. "I don't forget things that easy." He puffed up slightly. "Especially when I write them!"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he continued, "this situation is sort-of like that. A group of criminals is selling drugs, but they are very well hidden. For example, they're selling meth, crack, and I think even steroids. I know they are selling more. Anyway, these drugs have all been linked to the same origin, and are the cause of twenty-seven deaths, so far. Don mainly wants the drugs, but of course, if we can shut down their entire operation…. Each specific kind of drug is hidden in another part of their organization. For instance, the meth might be hidden in the forced labor part."

"Damn," Oswald muttered, looking at Charlie's paper. "I guess I could do something with that."

"Oh, geez," Charlie muttered, looking at his watch. "It's six o'clock –  
I promised Don I would run out and get some pizza about twenty minutes ago. Would you do that for me before you get started? And take Frank with you? I think he's getting on Don's nerves..." -- he glanced at the still-cowering boy -- "and it looks like Frank's not too comfortable here, either. Frank, this is a friend of mine. Oswald. You'll be safe with him."

Oswald's brow furrowed. Seemed like a strange way to introduce a person, to him. "I guess," he finally shrugged. He took another look at Frank, and sighed. "Come on, Frank. Let's go."

Without a word, Frank extricated himself from behind the trashcan and followed Oswald. He remained silent all the way to the vehicle. Oswald kept glancing at him and frowning, trying to remember where he had seen the kid before. A photo in the Eppes house, maybe? The two took their seats and buckled up. As Oswald started the car, his mind suddenly flashed on an L.A. Times article he had seen. Frank and another boy had flanked PI Hardy. Oswald snapped his fingers and looked at Frank excitedly. "That's it! You're Hardy's kid, aren't you?"

At the mention of the name Hardy, Frank shrunk down in his seat as far as his seat belt would allow, refusing to look at Oswald.

Oswald could tell he'd upset the teenager, and he felt badly about it. "Easy man, I ain't going to hurt you -- I don't have anything against your dad."

Frank finally looked at Oswald, trying to judge what he thought he saw, but he decided he couldn't take another chance and slumped back down in his seat instead.

Oswald tried again. "I don't bite," he said, in an attempt to make the kid laugh. It didn't work, though, and Oswald finally put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. The two made the trip to the pizza parlor in an uncomfortable silence. Oswald carefully pulled into a parking slot, cut the engine, and tried once more. "So, what do you think -- pepperoni, mushroom and sausage, cheese, and onion? Each 'large', of course. I mean, dude, that sounds like enough to feed an army! I think Charlie could eat a whole cheese pizza by himself, because he's probably forgotten to eat the last two days. Megan doesn't really like cheese. Or anchovies." Oswald knew he was rambling, and stopped talking. Frank still didn't speak, so Oswald led the way out of the car and into the restaurant.

Oswald was nothing if not persistent. While they were waiting for their order, he looked sideways at Frank. "So,", he said. "How do you know Charlie? You seem a little young to be one of his students." Confronted with a direct question, Frank began to let his eyes search frantically around the room, as if he needed to find a way to escape. Oswald's kind eyes darkened in sympathy, and he had a sudden flash of insight. He leaned back a little in the chair. "Are you in trouble?"

When he received no answer from the teenager, Oswald sighed. "Man, I know all about 'trouble.' I was always in trouble. Mostly at school -- 'til I dropped out. My old man died a while ago, but he used to beat me every day when he was drunk. Or worse. Then, I finally got away from that and nearly got myself killed with fantasy baseball, of all things. That's when I met Charlie. He's a good dude. All the Eppes are cool."

Still nothing. Oswald shuddered. If Frank's story was worse than his, he wasn't sure he really wanted to hear it anyway. Soon their order was ready. Even though Frank wouldn't speak, he readily put out his hands, and he helped carry the pizzas out to the car. He was thinking about what Oswald had said, and was on the verge of breaking. He felt like a fool for even considering trusting someone again, but this silence took an unbelievable amount of energy. He was exhausted.

When they finally re-entered the FBI building, balancing the boxes between them, Frank took a brief look around the lobby. Then he made his first important decision since he had been sent to stay with Alan Eppes.

He fled for the elevator to the bullpen. 


	3. Silence Is All He Has Left

_Chapter three – Silence Is The Only Power He Had Left_

_A/N: ONCE AGAIN A MILLION KUDOS FOR FRAIDYCAT FOR BETAING. THIS STORY IS FLOWING SO MUCH MORE SMOTHLY WITH HER WORK! THANKS FOR REVIEWING. PLEASE CONTINUE TO REVIEW. HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO SAY, "UPDATES ROK?" _

---------------------------------------------------------

Oswald was taken by surprise at Frank's sudden sprint, but he gamely juggled pizzas and attempted to keep up. "Easy, Killer," he gasped, catching up at last. "What's the matter?"

Frank's face was deathly pale again, and he was staring at a man who was staring back through the open door of the elevator. Oswald was pretty sure from the suit, the guy was a lawyer. Or maybe one of those Italian crime bosses...Dom Perignon, or something. The elevator door started to close, and the man reached out to stop it, taking a menacing step toward Frank and opening his mouth to say something. Oswald immediately pushed in front of Frank and glared. "Back off, dude," he commanded. "We'll wait for the next one."

The other people on the elevator were getting impatient, so the sharp-dressed man tried to look over Oswald's shoulder to throw Frank one last look, and let go of the door. The two young men watched the floor indications above the door light up for a moment before Oswald sighed and led the way to the other elevator in the lobby. He pushed the "up" button with his elbow and regarded Frank. "Dude. What was that all about?" He waited a few seconds, and then looked solemnly down at the top pizza box. "Like I expect him to answer, by now." The pizza box had nothing to say either, and eventually Oswald, Frank and pizzas made the trip up to the bullpen, listening to the sounds of silence.

When the elevator spit them off at their destination, the tiny parade made its way to the breakroom. By the time the boxes were on the table, the room was swarming with Agents lined up at the coffee pot and the soda machine. Oswald noticed that Larry had shown up while they were gone as well, and he smiled and greeted the professor.

Frank timed his stealthy grab for a slice of pepperoni pizza when he was sure no-one was looking. He was relieved when he carried it to a quiet corner to eat -- until he looked at it. Suddenly, he remembered the last time he had eaten at home.

Flashback

Frank looked at Joe, who seemed uneasy about something. Fenton and Gertrude were going on about something. Frank wasn't sure about what. Laura ate her meal in silence. Frank's attention was diverted from Joe by an especially loud protest from his aunt.

"Are you sure?" Gertrude snapped loudly. "Sending him to Jeff's has helped so much, you know." She glanced at him, clearly embarrassed. "Well, it was helping, until... I just think he needs to be with us for a while. Sending him away again could ruin everything."

"Of course I'm sure," Fenton shot back. "I'd trust this man with my life." He looked exhausted, but Frank didn't care one bit. "Alan might as well have a PhD in child rearing! You think Charlie was easy?"

Joe spoke up before their aunt could reply. "Dad, he's sitting right there, and you're talking about him as if he's a mule, not a person!"

"Joseph, this is none of your concern!" Fenton raised his voice angrily to his youngest son. Joe flinched, and Frank winced when he noticed a bruise on Joe's neck that he hadn't had yesterday.

Still, his little brother held his own against Fenton. "Yes, it is," he said hotly. "If Frank goes away again, I'm going with him this time!"

"What we do with Frank is not your concern," Fenton's voice became a menacing growl. "Now shut up and eat your damn mashed potatoes before I send you to your room, and take you there myself!"

End Flashback

---------------------------------------------------------

Frank stared at his one pathetic piece of pizza and tears pressed the back of his eyes as he wondered and worried about Joe. He looked toward the table and was surprised to see that most of the boxes were empty already. How long had he been gone?

He jerked a little, startled, when Don suddenly turned from the trashcan Frank had hidden behind earlier, where he had just thrown away a paper plate. Wiping his hands on a napkin, Don addressed the room at large, asserting his leadership. "Okay, everyone. Let's get back to work. Oswald, I want you and Charlie to try to decipher the computer files. See if you can figure out where all this 'talent' is coming from. Megan, I want to know where the hell they're getting massive amounts of that gardening shit. David, I need you to find anyone Jackson's been in contact with – I don't care if it's his barber, bring in anybody. Everybody. Colby, get me Jameson's credit record, pronto."

Frank watched the flurry of activity around him and he was both impressed and concerned. Everyone seemed to know how to do what Don wanted, and they were all heading somewhere...but Frank knew something none of them did. The well-dressed man in the elevator was a top player in the organization, and he was right here in the building. Frank had been surprised when Oswald had managed to make the guy back off – he had expected to be killed in the lobby. He knew these people would kill to keep their secret. He had seen them kill before.

Flashback

"I can't believe you'd rat on us, Jason. I can't believe you told that swipe of a cop what was going on. You should know better than that by now -- you couldn't have believed either one of us was going to survive this! I'm probably going to wind up as dead as you will! You brought down this arm of the organization!" Benny shouted, pointing the gun nervously at Jason's head. His own words rang true in his ears, and the gun was shaking. He swallowed, hard. "You aren't my brother anymore," he screamed, and almost before he realized it, his finger convulsed, squeezing the trigger.

Blood spattered back on Benny, and he dropped the weapon, staring in horror at the gaping hole in his brother's shoulder. "God, what have I done?" he gasped. He watched his brother crumble to the ground, backing away, almost tripping over their prisoner. Suddenly remembering him, he reached down and jerked Frank to his feet, not noticing the tears streaming down Frank's face, or his terror.

"Come on," Benny urged frantically, dragging Frank toward the door.

Frank protested, wanting to help Jason, but the man was having none of it.

End flashback

Most of the people were out of the breakroom by the time Frank came back to himself this time. He shuddered and moved toward the table. With shaking hands, he dropped the untouched slice of pizza back into the box and knew, no matter how much he wanted to tell them what he knew, he could not. They would simply have to figure this one out without his help. The last Agent left the room, smiling back at him. Frank ducked his head and set about methodically cleaning up the small breakroom, which was apparently the victim of a hurricane Frank had somehow missed. When he was finished, he retrieved the borrowed laptop and sat at the table. He navigated back to the baseball game. Knowing now that Oswald had somehow been involved in its design game piqued his interest, but still, he found that he could not focus on it. He looked at the runner on third, and had one thought: They were going to find out about Fenton.

They had to. He wanted them to.

Somebody, somewhere, had to know that Fenton wasn't the saint he pretended to be, and that he was a part of a major crime organization.

Right?

Yeah.

Right.

Frank knew as well as anyone that Fenton was good at hiding his tracks. He tried again to focus on the game, but his attention was definitely elsewhere. About an hour later, at eight thirty, Oswald returned to the room. "Come on, Frank," he smiled. "I'm taking you home, under orders of Charlie. We're both to go home and get some rest."

Frank blinked up at him, slowly closed the laptop and rose from the table, clutching it to his chest as if it could protect him. Again he shadowed Oswald to his car. The young man was obviously a friend of the Eppes' and had been kind to him all day. Frank's mind told him Oswald was someone he could safely talk to...but he reminded himself that the risk was too great. He couldn't -- wouldn't -- allow Joe to be hurt.

Oswald seemed too tired to work at dragging Frank out of his shell anymore that day, and the two drove to Pasadena in relative silence -- not counting Nelly blasting out of the stereo. By the time they got to Alan's house, it was after nine o'clock. Frank didn't make any move to just walk in, so Oswald knocked on the front door. Soon Alan's smiling and relieved face was a few inches from his own. Oswald couldn't help smiling back. "Hey, Mr. Eppes!" he said.

Alan reached out and physically pulled him inside. "Once again, Oswald, my name is 'Alan'! I see you've returned Frank. Someone else checked him out, I believe."

Oswald laughed. "Yeah, Charlie is still down at the FBI offices, but he noticed how tired I was getting, so he sent me home and asked me to drop off Frank, on the way. Me and Frank have been hangin' some, today. It was fun. Charlie's cool and all, but he's a little old sometimes, you know?"

Alan shut the door behind them, laughing to himself. Oswald had no idea what 'old' was. "I'm sure," he deadpanned.

Oswald didn't even notice. "So anyway, I'm going back in tomorrow morning, and I was wondering if I could pick up Frank and take him with me?" He looked uncertainly at his silent companion. "If he wants, I mean. I guess it's kind-of boring, if you've got nothing to do once you get there."

Alan looked carefully at Frank, who showed no preference to either going or staying. "Did you enjoy yourself today, son?"

Frank's head shot up at the last word and daggers shot from his eyes, nearly knocking Alan backwards. With an obvious effort, he maintained his silence, glanced once at Oswald, and headed for the guest room at the back of the first floor.

Alan sighed. "Well. Almost got a rise out of him, didn't I?" Oswald shrugged, uncomfortable. Alan smiled at him again, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Os, I think spending time with you tomorrow will be good for him. But I don't want you driving all the way back to L.A., tonight. You look exhausted. There's another guest room upstairs -- Don's old room. Please stay."

Oswald was still staring after Frank, and he barely responded to the offer. "Garage is good," he said. "Don might come home with Charlie and need his room." He went on before Alan could work on him. "So what is it with this guy? What happened? He's doesn't talk to anyone, even Charlie. He's scared, man."

Alan sighed. "A gang attacked him about three weeks ago. Since then, he hasn't been talking. I'm assuming you know he's Fenton's son. Fenton Hardy, that is. Fenton and I have been friends since awhile back. I met him close to when Frank was born, I think. Yes. It was Frank, not Joe. That day, Don had broken his arm, so he was in the hospital having a cast applied. Frank was there with a small burn, and his father and I met at the cafeteria." He smiled sadly, remembering. "Both of our wives were out of town and we found ourselves bonding, two terrified and guilty fathers." He shook himself out of the past. "Anyway. A motorcycle gang Fenton was investigating on a case -- he's a private investigator, you know -- these men kidnapped Frank, and he's been having some trouble. So I volunteered to look after him."

"I see," Oswald said. He let the information digest. The thought of digestion made him think of food. The pizzas had been hours ago, and he was a growing boy. "Uh...Alan?"

Alan's smile brightened; thrilled that Oswald had finally used his name. "Yes?"

"Could I maybe take a bag of chips or something out to the garage with me?"

Alan started immediately for the kitchen. "Oh, no, young man. I'm sure we can do better than that."


	4. All For One

Chapter Four  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
After getting a good night's rest, Oswald walked from the garage into the kitchen, shivering slightly in the early morning air. He was surprised to find Don, Alan, Charlie, and Frank already downstairs, crammed around the table. Charlie was talking math to Don while Frank was nearly finished setting the table. "'Morning, Alan," greeted Oswald.

"Good morning, Oswald," Alan smiled. "How are you doing, today?"

"Good," Oswald replied. He looked pointedly at Don. "I told you that Don would come home last night."

"Yeah, if you count 2:00 a.m. as last night," Charlie yawned, taking a huge bite out of the breakfast muffin.

"Charlie, save that for breakfast," Don said, snatching it out of his hand and finishing it off.

"You're no better," his brother retorted. As soon as the eggs were ready, Alan got out some of hot tea and gave everyone but Frank a cup. Frank, who was now docilely and silently in his place at the table, had orange juice. "How is the case coming?"

"It's exhausting," Don said. "It's also weird. I mean, how are they hiding the drugs so well, and why are the drugs killing people? Not that street drugs are ever good for people, but you'd think they would want repeat buyers, or something." He spread the jam on his bread.

Larry walked down the stairs in his jeans and a white shirt. "Good morning, Alan. Sorry I'm late."

"It's okay, Larry. Don instructed me not to wake you," Alan said, hastily getting Larry a plate. Everyone crowded even closer to make room for one more.

Frank watched everyone around him, mildly picking at his food. He hated mealtimes at his house. They were either loud or violent, at least as of lately. Suddenly, the telephone rang.

"I'm expecting a phone call from Fenton. Why don't you get it, Frank?" Alan asked kindly.

Frank shrunk down in his seat and shook his head. Don, who was closest, heaved himself out of his chair, walked over to the wall phone and plucked the receiver off the hook. He was as unwilling as Charlie and Frank to talk to Fenton, so he just pulled the cord until he could reach his father and shoved the phone at him. Alan frowned at his son's rudeness and spoke hastily into the mouthpiece. "Hello?"

Oswald looked at Frank, wondering if he was having some of the same problems at home as he himself had. "What's the plan for today, Don?" He spoke lowly so he wouldn't disturb Alan, but the older man was rising from the table anyway, wandering as far as the telephone cord would stretch toward the dining room.

"Well," Don said with a sigh, "Pick up where we left off yesterday, I guess. There isn't much else we can do."

"Are you still going with the theory that it's the same organization?" Charlie asked. "Because that talent – well, what talent they are getting – they are getting it from multiple places."

Don groaned. "Multiple places?"

Charlie looked at Oswald and shrugged. "We're still working on it."

"Fine," said Alan, walking back toward the base of the telephone and replacing the receiver. He was still perturbed at Don, but he smiled at Frank anyway. "Joe says hi," he conveyed, and Frank's face lit up. He even smiled at Alan before getting up and leaving the table.

"Well," Alan said to no-one in particular as Frank left for his room to get ready, "I guess we can consider that progress."

------------------------------------------------------

Later that day Don once again had everyone back to work. Frank was definitely impressed; everybody listened to Don and didn't question his orders once. He knew this was the FBI, but still.

Once again he stayed out of the way in the breakroom, although he was unable to concentrate on the computer, or on the book Alan had insisted he take along. Just before lunch, Oswald tracked him down. He looked tired, and he opened the refrigerator to take out of bottle of water.

Uncapping it, he drank deeply before he spoke. "Hey, Frank," he finally said, "in about thirty minutes we are going to go out and pick up some pizza again. What kind do you want?"

Frank looked at him, wanting so badly to talk to him, but not quite sure he could. Oswald shrugged. "Cheese? Meat lovers?" He listed about a dozen, but received no answer from Frank. "Okay, then," Oswald said, giving up, "we draw at random." He left the room then to go find Charlie, and ran into the Brothers Eppes in the hallway. Like a puppy, he turned and followed them right back where he had just been.

Don and Charlie were arguing over something, and they both had that tone in their voices that warned most people to seek shelter. Oswald blundered right in. "Guys!" , he started, "Calm down! We're all on the same side here, right?" He succeeded in momentarily silencing the brothers, but neither one of them looked happy about it. "Look," he went on, almost pleading now, "we don't even know this for a fact, yet, okay? All we know is we think they are kidnapping people – teenagers – to make the drugs." He hated to watch these guys fight. Sometimes, it was as if neither one of them had any idea how lucky he was to have a brother.

"You've got to get me more," Don growled, mostly at Charlie. "Where is the main hunting ground? A high school? A YMCA? City basketball league?"

Charlie shoved his way through the breakroom door first and rubbed his pounding forehead. "Don't you think I would tell you that, if I knew? Are you accusing me of holding out of you for some reason?"

Oswald literally popped in-between them and looked helplessly at Don. "We're not sure," he admitted. "But we've narrowed it down to the Bronx. You know – in New York?"

Don sighed. "Last time I checked, L.A. didn't have one, Oswald. Both of you, keep working on it!" Don had barked, and he saw Oswald's face fall. He immediately felt guilty on two accounts. He felt terrible for making the kid feel bad; he knew everyone was working as hard as they could. It also nagged at him briefly that he hadn't hesitated to take his frustration out on Charlie.

He could see his little brother now, leaning against the wall behind Oswald, still rubbing his head. Don never intended for Charlie to make himself sick with a migraine, or something, dammit... Per his usual modus operandi, Don found himself unable to confront the problem head-on. He looked instead at his watch.

"One o'clock already? This place is going to be littered with starving consultants, soon. Oswald, sorry if I push too hard – maybe a break will help. Why don't you and Frank go after pizza again?" Charlie was scowling at Don now, and he knew he should apologize to his brother as well. Hell, maybe they should all get a little fresh air.

"No problem, Don," Oswald assured him, and he tossed a smile at Frank. "Come on, dude – maybe you can point to something on the menu!" Frank had been watching the brothers with apprehension and growing fear himself, and was more than happy to follow Oswald out the door. He felt safer around him than he did around anyone else right now. As they rode the elevator to the lobby, Oswald suddenly elbowed him. Frank looked up startled, and Oswald grinned. "Side bet. Pick one. Who do you think is going to say he's sorry first?"

------------------------------------------------------  
At the pizza parlor, Oswald teased Frank again about pointing to the menu. He wasn't really surprised when Frank remained silent. Oswald sighed and planted Frank at a table near the take-out counter, then approached a waiting cashier gripping a tattered menu and Don's credit card. "One of those," he began, pointing, "and two of those…gimme one of these, too, and maybe that one…"

Frank listened and almost smiled. Maybe Oswald was too hungry to be in charge of the food. His own stomach grumbled a little, and instead of smiling, he stared at Oswald's back and frowned sadly. Oswald seemed like such a nice guy. Frank wanted to trust him badly, but what if Oswald was a hidden member of the gang? The gang had plenty of hidden members who could get to anyone, anywhere – like Fenton. But then again, Fenton was pretty much a top-secret guy.

His mind had wandered so far afield that he jerked, startled, when Oswald sat down at the table opposite him. Oswald noticed the frown and the subsequent fear, and looked at Frank with a quiet empathy. "Why won't you talk, man? You're surrounded right now by people who want to help you – good, solid people, like the Eppes – you don't have to be afraid, anymore." Oswald could tell Frank had reached the point where not talking was harder than talking; but, maybe he just didn't know anymore how to break his silence.

Oswald made one last observation. "I know it's hard to know who to trust, dude. And these Eppes people? Almost too good to be true – especially Alan. But you've got to trust someone, sometime, don't you? Doesn't this hurt you more than it protects you?"

To Oswald's horror, he saw a tear glisten in Frank's eye. He backed off immediately. "Hey. What do I know? Just ask Don, today, and he'll tell you – not much of anything!"

The two sat in silence until it was time to collect the pizzas. Oswald grew more and more uncomfortable, telling himself he was an idiot to try and force the kid into anything. On the way back to the Bureau, Oswald was distracted enough to drive like a maniac. About halfway back, they passed a patrol car on the side of the road. Oswald's mind registered the fact that the driver pulled over should have been him. He took a deep breath, lightened his foot on the gas pedal, and thanked his guardian angel. No doubt Don would not validate a speeding ticket. 

Driving slower seemed to help him think more clearly, and soon he found himself trying again to reach his silent young companion. "So, Frank," he began, "I was wondering. Charlie said he probably won't need me tomorrow, and if he doesn't, do you want to go to the movies with me? There's this one I want to see, it's called 'Cheaper By The Dozen 2'. I know it's a lame comedy and all that, but I like that kind of stuff. So if Alan says it's okay, you wanna go?"

Frank shrugged, so Oswald took that as a "yes" and felt a little happier as he parked and the two took their precious cargo up to the bullpen. His mood plummeted again when they found Don and Charlie back at it – or still at it?—in the break room.

Charlie was standing near the refrigerator, shouting at Don, who sat at the table and drummed his fingers on the top. "I told you, Johnson's not involved! There's somebody else , and I don't understand why you're fixated on Johnson! Where's the supporting data? I mean come on, DON! Have you not been listening to a thing I've said?! There's a single mastermind behind all this, and they're looping all the organizations together! Statistical probabilities indicate that the same individual is responsible for recruiting and maintaining the teenage cooking crew!"

Don shouted right back. "There can't be just one mastermind, Charlie – this isn't 'Spiderman', or something! Look at your numbers, man, you're all about numbers! We have over 50,000 people linked to this operation. There is no way in hell one person is controlling all that! Why don't you just stick to your assigned research and let professionals solve the actual case?"

Charlie stiffened and glared at Don. "These aren't just my numbers. Oswald and Larry have reached the same conclusion, independently! And I'll be happy to leave whenever you want me to!"

Standing in the hall holding six pizzas between them, Oswald looked at Frank. So much for either one of those guys saying he was sorry to the other one. Frank was pale and his eyes were wide. It looked like he hated arguments as much as Oswald did. Os was happy to help Charlie, and by extension, Don and the FBI, whenever he could – but it didn't sound like anybody was very happy, right now.

He swallowed and hoped he could talk Alan into letting Frank go with him the next day.

Maybe he could do a better job at helping him.


	5. Something In His Eyes

Chapter 5

Frank was visibly excited about spending the day with Oswald. He was beginning to trust him, even though his mind screamed at him not to trust anyone. He was excited that he wouldn't have to spend the entire day in the FBI office, too. While he was there he was either bored or terrified that he would run into that attorney, again. He shook himself from his thoughts when he heard Alan's voice.

"Frank!", he called. "Please come and eat your breakfast."

Frank took one last look in the bathroom mirror, and was surprised to see himself smiling. He liked Alan; he had thought of him as an uncle since they had met in the hospital so long ago. And even though Don had grown up into someone who scared him, a little, Frank respected both him and Charlie.

He headed for the kitchen, and the smile was replaced with a slight frown. He was still afraid to talk, no matter how much he liked these people. He had been severely punished for speaking his mind when he had first been kidnapped. Worse than the beatings, the men had promised that his little brother Joe would suffer an even more painful fate, if Frank so much as hinted at what he knew. He had seen enough of the interaction between Don and Charlie to know that Don would respect him for his decision, if he knew. Even though the brothers had often been at each other's throats on this one, anybody who spent any time with them at all could see how protective Don was of his brother.

Frank had been stupid; at the first "prison" he had been too. He had let himself talk to one of the nearby people about the kidnapping, not understanding that he, too, was part of Fenton's organization. Benny had actually arranged the gang attack, standing at the end of the alley and watching while Frank was nearly beaten and kicked to death. That time, he learned his lesson: Trust no one.

"Frank!" Alan called again, coming around the corner and nearly running right into him. "Oh! There you are. Hurry up, the eggs are getting cold!"

Frank's frown deepened. Eggs where on his list of things never to do again, if he could help it…but he wasn't about to indicate that to Alan. The last time he had refused to eat what he was offered, back home, Fenton had refused to let Laura give him anything for two days. Joe had tried to sneak him a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, and he, too, had ended up with similar punishment.

Frank stiffened as Alan draped an arm around his shoulder, but he let the older man lead him into the kitchen. His frown left as quickly as it had appeared when he spied Oswald sitting at the table, already demolishing a plate of eggs.

Oswald swallowed and smiled. Frank tried to ignore the yellow bits of yolk on his teeth. "Morning, Frank." He laughed and looked at the empty chairs. "I know – it's kind-of weird…the Eppes kitchen is usually Grand Central Station!"

Alan let go of Frank, who sank quickly into the closest chair. Tentatively, he reached for the last egg on the serving platter in the middle of the table.

He heard Alan sigh a little behind him, but when he spoke, it was with fondness. "Oswald, you need to eat here more often – and I need to remember to make more, when you do!"

Oswald turned a crimson shade of red. "Oh. Oh geez, Mr. Eppes, I'm sorry. Did I eat too much?"

Alan laughed and dropped a hand on Frank's shoulder, not saying anything when Frank nearly jumped out of the chair. "No, no, son, there's plenty more where that came from. And my name is 'Alan." Frank, would you like me to make some more eggs? Or perhaps you'd like some cereal, or something else, instead?"

Frank found himself in the awkward position of making a choice without speaking. In a near-panic over such a simple decision, his fork clattered to the table, and he grabbed his spoon.

Oswald smiled at him and looked up at Alan. "I'm thinking that means cereal." Frank looked at him as if he was a genius – which he probably was -- and actually smiled.

Alan hurried to fetch a bowl and some milk, and every kind of cereal they had in the house. He was even happier that Oswald had asked to spend a purely recreational day with Frank. He was obviously good for the boy. Charlie and Don were so busy fighting with each other right now, they were useless at helping with Frank. Besides, as Oswald had said, they were kind-of old! Alan grinned wickedly at that thought, as he sat the jug of cold milk in front of Frank. "So…what do you boys have in mind for today?"

Oswald drained a glass of orange juice and Frank was happy to see that the egg yolk was gone. "I thought we'd see a matinee, hang at the mall for a while – there's this really cool store called _Hot Topic _I want to show Frank. It sells Goth clothes. Of course, we're gonna have to eat. A lot."

"Goth?" Alan raised his eyebrow at Oswald.

"Yeah. Goth. It's really cool. I mean, suits are okay and everything, but some days you just wanna scream!" Oswald chuckled as he buttered a slice of toast. "We'll be back around five or so – is that okay?"

"That's perfect, right around supper time," Alan said. He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. He carefully plucked out three $20-dollar-bills and laid them next to Frank's cereal bowl. "Is that enough to see you through the day yet not enough to get you in trouble?", he joked.

When Frank looked up at him and frowned, Alan reassured him. "Don't worry. Fenton has me on a strict accounting schedule – this will be reimbursed."

Frank looked at the money with even more unhappiness. He knew now where Fenton's money came from. He regarded it warily and half-heartedly lifted a spoonful of cereal to his mouth.

Oswald noticed his hesitation, and decided to make light of it. He pushed back his chair a little from the table, finally finished eating breakfast. "Dude," he said to Frank. "Take your old man for as much as you can, while you can."

Frank looked at him so sharply Oswald was afraid he'd gone too far. Then the younger boy found himself thinking that whatever he spent would not be used to put drugs on the street, and his expression relaxed a little. He laid a hand almost protectively over the money.

Alan didn't even pretend to know what was going on. "Oswald," he said, "Why don't we let Frank finish his breakfast. Can I talk to you for a moment before you leave?" He started walking toward the swinging door into the dining room, and Oswald quickly followed.

Alan smiled as he heard the young statistician whisper to Frank on his way past. "Don't worry. Probably just wants to make sure I burp you after we eat."

When the two had reached the living room, Alan turned to Oswald. "I just wanted to thank you for spending time with Frank. I love the boy, and I want to help – that's why I agreed to have him here, after all. But you could be right about all of us Eppes men being a little too old, for this one."

Oswald protested. "Ah, Mr. – I mean Alan – that's not what I meant!"

Alan smiled. "I know, son. But seriously, Frank seems to lighten when you're around.

He's making progress. I know there's something hidden there, something he wants to say, and it's on the tip of his tongue. I think your friendship will help him a lot. When he first came here, extreme mood swings were apparent, even without words. He seems much more stable in your company."

Oswald shifted uncomfortably. "Geez, Alan. It's no big deal. I feel badly for the kid – and I don't even really know why. I'm not sure I'm ever doing or saying the right thing – are you sure it's okay if we hang out?"

Alan smiled at him. "Oswald, I think it's the best thing in the world and exactly what he needs, right now."

………………………………………………

Frank had a good time at the movie. He hadn't seen it before, and found himself struggling not to laugh. In a couple of scenes, though, he couldn't help himself and laughed quietly. He half-expected Oswald to hit him each time, but everyone in the theater was laughing. His mind gave a mental sigh of relief when he walked out of the theater. Okay, maybe he wouldn't talk about what happened…. But he could talk about small things. Maybe.

"If we don't get pizza again, is that okay with you?" Oswald asked. He felt like a million bucks – he'd gotten Frank to laugh. He'd picked the movie for a reason.

Frank nodded and smiled at him as they made their way to the car. "So, where do you think? Wendy's sounds pretty good," Oswald said. "That okay with you?"

Frank hadjust started considering the possibility of talking. He wasn't ready yet, by any means, so he just nodded. He had seen that Oswald wasn't going to hit him, so he at least felt a little safer. Once they were there, Oswald had Frank point to what he wanted on the menu. He got a funny stare from the clerk, but Oswald didn't care one bit. When they got their food, Oswald sat down and unwrapped his burger. "What did you think of the movie?"

He immediately mentally kicked himself for asking a direct question to a virtual mute, and almost fell off his chair when Frank actually answered him. "It was good," he said, with obvious effort. His voice was raspy and hoarse from misuse. It took all of Oswald's strength not to let his jaw drop down in shock.

"I'm glad you liked it," he said, quickly taking a bite of his burger and chewing quickly. "What was your favorite part?"

"The end," Frank said. _Oswald is safe, _he reminded himself.

"The end? When she was havin' her baby?"

"No, the end when they all teamed together. I hate it when people fight."

"Me too, dude." He took another bite of his burger. _Me, too._ "So. You know that Goth place I was telling Alan about?"

Frank nodded.

"I thought we'd go there next, if it's cool."

Frank nodded again. "OK," he agreed, "sure." They finished eating the meal in silence, and walked out to the car. Frank was feeling much better, and he even chose a clearance pair of pants and a shirt at the store. __As Oswald returned to Alan's house, the atmosphere in the car was considerably lighter than before.

Alan was just returning a watering hose to its reel as Oswald pulled into the driveway. He greeted the boys with a smile as they exited the car. "Hey, you two. How was your day?"

"Fine," Oswald said, looking at Frank, wondering if he would talk to Alan. He felt a little disappointment when Frank only shrugged.

It didn't seem to phase Alan, though. "Great!", he said, leading them toward the kitchen entrance. "Frank, would you mind setting the table for supper? For five, please, in the dining room. Oswald will stay, and I'm expecting Don and Charlie." He mumbled the last word under his breath. "Eventually."

Frank nodded and pushed past them into the kitchen, single-minded in his pursuit. Alan shook his head, smiling a little, and turned to Oswald. "So how was it, really?"

"It was _awesome,_ man," Oswald answered. "Frank talked."

Alan's jaw dropped open and he stopped walking. _"He talked?"_

"Yeah!", Oswald beamed, excited. "And he laughed, too. At the movie."

"That's wonderful!", Alan crowed, nearly crushing Oswald in a quick hug. He pulled back and slapped a hand on Oswald's back heartily. "I'm so pleased to hear that!"

Oswald stepped between Alan and the kitchen. "Look," he started, embarrassed. "I know this sounds weird…but could you not tell the kid's father, yet?"

Alan's joy turned to surprise. "Why? I'm sure Fenton would be just as happy…"

Oswald sighed. "I'm not really sure. I can't give you anything concrete. I know this sounds crazy, but I just…. I kind-of _sense_ it, man. Frank's not near ready to go home yet, and I hope he'll trust me enough soon to tell me what's really bothering him. He's hiding something, something big. He just wants to tell someone, but he can't, yet."

Alan frowned. "Surely you don't think Fenton is involved in some way?" He couldn't believe that was possible – but he had to admit, Oswald had shown great instincts with Frank, so far.

Oswald shrugged. "Like I said, I'm not sure. It's just…something in his eyes."

………………………………………………


	6. He laughed

A million thanks to FraidyCat for betaing. This chapter is mostly interaction between Oswald and Frank. Starting with chapter seven, there will be a lot more involvement with the brothers, and of course, Fenton and Alan. Please keep up the reviews. Fell free to copy "This Rox" or "this sux". Lol. (How long can that POSSIBLY take? _Be warned,... I might get out my PUPPY DOG EYES!!!)_

Chapter 6

Oswald was secretly happy that Charlie seemed to be finished needing his help for a while. Damned if he knew where the professor got his energy; Oswald was more than ready to spend another day kicking back with Frank. They hadn't really made any plans, but he was pretty sure Alan would go for it, considering the things he had said to Oswald yesterday. So, he headed for the Eppes house again early the next morning, deciding on the way there that maybe Frank wouldn't mind going to the batting cages with him.

Worried that he might be taking advantage of Alan's hospitality just a little, Oswald had waited until after breakfast – but just barely. Frank was in the kitchen helping Alan put away a load of dishes from the dishwasher when Oswald knocked on the back door.

Don would have given his father all kinds of hell if he had heard his friendly yell. "Come on in," Alan cried, opening a cabinet to place a glass inside. "Door's open!"

Even Oswald was a little taken aback and he cracked the door tentatively. "Alan? Shouldn't this be locked, or something? And do you always yell at strangers to 'come on in'?"

Alan smiled. "I've been expecting you. Charlie went into Don's office alone this morning, and he said you'd mentioned spending the day with Frank again when he talked to you early this morning. I'd rather hoped you'd join us for breakfast."

Oswald shook his head, rolling his eyes at Frank as he fully entered the kitchen. "So I take it you don't mind? Me 'n Frank hangin' again, I mean?"

"Of course not," Alan assured him. "I need to go to a consultation with Stan this morning myself, anyway. Have you enjoyed working with the boys on this case, Oswald?"

Oswald sighed. "It's okay, I guess. I'm not really comfortable with the way those two have been going at each other, though. Charlie's still stuck on his theory that one dude's behind the whole thing, and of course Don's saying, 'it's 50.000 people, how the hell is that possible?!' It's exhausting. Neither one of them ever wins."

Alan laughed. "Don't I know it,"

Neither one of them noticed the slight frown passing over Frank's face. _I know!,_ his mind screamed at him_. I know! That's why I can't tell anybody – his power is too much! _

Oswald and Alan chatted a bit longer, and finally the dishes were all back in their homes. "Hey Frank," Oswald addressed his new friend, "Are you up for the batting cages? Maybe we can catch another movie later, too."

Frank shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shrugged.

"That sounds like fun," Alan encouraged, "although you probably shouldn't mention the batting cages to Don when he's in such a 'foul' mood." He laughed happily at his own joke, drowning out Oswald's groan.

Alan started to reach into his back pocket for his wallet, but Oswald held up a hand. "We've still got some from yesterday," he assured him. "Besides, I've done some…" – suddenly, he looked a little embarrassed -- "…well, some stat work for the owner, and he lets me in the cages for free, during off hours."

Alan clucked and shook his head. "Oswald. You're not still involved in gambling?"

Oswald shook his head vehemently. "Hell – I mean, heck no, Alan. It's kind-of an old debt."

Alan smiled. "Right. Well. Whatever you do, you boys be careful, today."

Frank crossed the floor to follow Oswald out to his car. "Don't worry," Oswald tossed back over his shoulder, "'Careful' is my middle name!"

"Why do I not believe that?" Alan muttered to himself as he started packing up his briefcase for a day with Stan.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Do you like baseball?" Oswald asked as they walked onto the compound.

Frank had found his voice again on the way to the cages. "It's okay," he answered.. "I played football at home..." His voice grew sad and dropped to a near-whisper. "At least, I was until I got kidnapped."

It was a pretty long sentence, for Frank, and definitely the most personal thing he had shared with Oswald yet. The statistician found himself floundering for a response. He didn't want the kid to clam up, again, so he sure wasn't going to press him. "Um… you do know the basics, though, right? How it's played, I mean. You must, 'cuz I know you hit that ball game software I loaded on Charlie's old computer – I saw it on the screen." He shut up abruptly, feeling himself start to ramble.

Much to his chagrin, Frank seemed to become even sadder. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "My brother Joe really likes baseball…"

Oswald led the way to an outside cage after chatting with the manager. "Brother, huh? That's cool. I'll bet you miss him. I don't have any brothers, but I always thought I'd like one. That's why it bothers me so much when Don and Charlie fight."

Frank just nodded and wouldn't even look at him, so Oswald figured brothers were not a safe topic, either. He ended up feeling like a fool, and there wasn't much more talk from either of them over the next few hours. Around noon, the cages began to fill up, and the manager came by to remind Oswald that he needed their cage for paying customers. Oswald immediately dropped the bat to his side, letting a pitch whiz by him, and thanked the manager for letting them get in a few hours that morning. Oswald still wasn't feeling all that great about how things were going until Frank shyly handed his bat to the dude, smiled, and said, "Thank-you", clear as a bell.

Amazing what two words could do to cheer a guy up. Oswald smiled broadly at Frank. "Hey! Let's hit another movie, man!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The crowded theater had closed Frank's mouth again, and he stood nervously beside Oswald in the line at the snack bar. Didn't anybody in L.A. besides the FBI and Charlie ever work? Why was this place always so jam-packed?

When it was finally their turn at the counter, Frank just pointed awkwardly at a few things on the menu, while Oswald interpreted for him. They were both surprised to suddenly hear a disgusted voice behind them. "Come on, man, tell him what you friggin' want!" It was a low, masculine voice, and Frank flinched visibly, thinking of the men who had kidnapped him. He refused to look, but Oswald turned and confronted a sneer, as a complete stranger, who looked to be about twenty years old, continued. "You some kind of idiot from the State School, or something? Your buddy here got you checked out for the day?" He laughed cruelly. "Come on, idiot, point to the menu again, just like a Big Boy!"

Frank still refused to turn around, and just stared miserably at his feet. He didn't even notice when Oswald casually picked up his soda from the counter – although he did hear his friend warn the stranger. "Back off, dude."

The man pushed at Oswald. "Don't tell me what to do, Geek! You're probably on a Day Pass from somewhere yourself!" He tried to reach around Oswald to shove at Frank. "I said, hurry the hell up, idiot!"

The last word came out a bit garbled, since he was suddenly wearing Oswald's soda. Frank looked up fearfully as he heard the odd sound and felt Oswald firmly place his body right next to him. "I said, 'back off'."

The young girl behind the counter, eyes wide and bubble-gum popping, had pushed the button for security when the argument first began, and the next thing Frank saw was a beefy hand stopping the stranger's fist, which was flying at Oswald's face. "I don't even want to hear who started what," yelled a uniformed security officer. "You're outta here. All three of you. NOW!"

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Security had escorted them to front glass doors of the theater, and made sure they went in opposite directions, so they wouldn't continue the fight on the street. Oswald climbed silently in his car, waited for Frank to buckle up, and mentally kicked himself. Great. Probably set the kid back, again – but what was he supposed to do? He couldn't let some asshole diss Frank – or worse, slug him. Terrified of the answer – or lack of one – Oswald started the vehicle's engine and glanced at Frank. "Uh… sorry. Wanna get some lunch, instead? Subway's just down the street."

Frank didn't exactly jump for joy, but he didn't demand that Oswald take him home, either. He just mumbled a low, "Okay" to his shoes, and Oswald almost didn't hear the second word. "Thanks."

Oswald decided then and there that he would never have children. This ying and yang stuff was killing him. He was starting to wonder which end was up. Game as ever on the outside, Oswald soon delivered them to Subway. Even though the small restaurant was busy with thee lunch crowd, the two managed to place their order, complete with Frank's now-signature pointing, without another incident.

They even managed to snag the last open table. As he slid into the booth, Oswald looked at Frank, sitting opposite him. He still felt badly about the whole theater-thing. "You okay?"

Frank nodded, peering at Oswald intently. If Oswald was a part of the gang, wouldn't he have let that guy in the theater go ahead and beat him up? Frank felt a tiny surge of hope. Could he really trust Oswald?

His intense stare was making the other man uncomfortable. Oswald reached toward the napkin dispenser. "We should probably eat and let someone else sit down," he suggested. "Your sandwich okay?"

Franks eyes widened as Oswald's sweatshirt pulled up his arm as he stretched it toward the dispenser. At first Oswald was confused. "What?"

With a shaking finger, Frank indicated an ugly burn scar on Oswald's forearm. "What is that?", he whispered.

Oswald followed Frank's gaze and reached over to pull his sweatshirt sleeve down. Embarrassed, he shrugged. "No big deal. Long time ago. My dad sometimes used me as an ash tray."

Frank glanced at the floor, then back up at Oswald, then back down at the floor. He seemed to be making up his mind about something. He was thinking about the things Oswald had told him about his life, and about the way he had protected him at the movie theater. He remembered all the times in the last few days the man had gone out of his way to be kind to him.

Frank buried his hands in fists under the table, on top of his lap, and took a deep breath. "Um," he started. Oswald looked at him, eyebrows in a questioning arch. Frank tried again. "Uh…" He finally located his courage and rattled off the longest speech he had made in weeks. "I know sort-of how you must feel. My Dad never hit me, but I'm almost positive he smacks Joe around…I've seen bruises, and my brother won't talk about them. Plus, my father had to know what was happening to me at my uncle's house. When I was kidnapped, 'don't speak at all' was strictly enforced. I got lots of beatings because I spoke my mind. Then one night I stepped too far out of line, and the next day the leader of that arm of the organization came with his half-brother. They let him…" Frank looked nervously at the floor, then back up at Oswald. "They let him…do what he wanted to with me. You know. And they told me if I spoke again, they would make me watch them do it to Joe." He stopped to take another breath, knowing if he didn't plow right through the speech, he'd loose his nerve. "I didn't talk a lot after that, but I became close friends with his half-brother, Jason. I didn't speak out loud after that, but sometimes I would whisper with Jason, at night. He was one of the guards, and he wasn't as mean as the others. I liked him. One night he told me he was an informant, and he would get me out. We didn't know that Benny, the guy who…well, you know…we didn't know Benny was coming back in for another turn, and heard him. Benny went crazy, screaming and yelling and cursing out his own brother…." Frank's eyes teared-up. "He shot him, Oswald. He killed him right in front of me."

Frank gulped. He knew this would be the hardest part. Luckily, he had pretty much stunned Oswald into silence, by now, and was able to continued uninterrupted. "Not too long after that I was supposed to be asleep in this little cell-like area in the warehouse, when all of a sudden, my own father came in! At first I thought he had someone find me, and was there to save me, but then he started talking to my captors and it was obvious he was their boss! 'How's the boy', he asked. 'Alive,' Benny sneered, 'and very entertaining, too!' My dad laughed, Oswald, he _laughed_ – then he said Benny could do whatever he wanted with me, as long as he kept me alive. 'He's his mother's favorite,' he said. 'Eventually I'll have to bring him home. If you break him first, he'll be easier to deal with. Later, when you grab Joe; him, you can kill. Brat doesn't do me any good.'"

Tearing-up again, Frank looked at the formica table-top. "Eventually, I did go home. The story was that a ransom was paid. I was terrified to let Joe out of my sight, and my Dad noticed – that's why he sent me to my Uncle's. I'm pretty sure the whole biker gang thing was arranged by him to teach me a lesson, keep me quiet." Suddenly, Frank locked desperate eyes with his friend. "God Oswald, I can't let anything happen to Joe! I can't protect him, while I'm here and he's there…what am I going to do?"

Oswald shuddered. He felt as if he'd fallen down a rabbit hole. No wonder Frank was such a mess. He reached across the table to touch Frank's upper arm, lightly. "Frank – I really don't know what to say. 'I'm sorry' just doesn't cut it, you know?" He swallowed nervously and pulled his hand back to run it through his hair. "Dude, we've really got to bring Don and Charlie in on this. Don's FBI, man, he can put your Dad away! He can help you protect Joe!"

Frank pressed back against the booth and shook his head. "No. No. They won't believe me! Why would they believe me? Fenton has been a friend of Alan's for years, and a respected P.I. He plans to run for the Senate next year, and is paving the way, now, schmoozing everybody!" Frank's voice rose as he became more and more upset. He couldn't believe he had told Oswald this much – and he still hadn't told him Fenton's organization was the one Don and Charlie were looking for! "Oh, man, Joe's gonna get hurt! You've got to help me get back!"


	7. Misleading Information

Chapter 7

Frank clenched and unclench his fist in the pocket of his jacket. He and Oswald had finished eating their sandwiches, and Oswald had managed during that time to convince Frank it was a good idea to spill everything to Don and Charlie. The closer they had gotten to the office, though, the more Frank waffled on that decision. By the time the two were taking the elevator to the bullpen, Frank was afraid he might throw up.

Oswald, trying to stand far enough away to be out of the line of fire should that happen; yet close enough that Frank felt his support – couldn't really blame the kid. The things he had been through were horrible enough, but it was obvious what really terrified him was the idea of the same things happening to his brother. Oswald clung to the belief that Don would understand that fear, and help the guy out. Fenton Hardy may be the most evil man alive, from what Oswald had heard, and the sooner he was locked up, the better!

"I can't do this," Frank said suddenly, as the elevator lurched to a stop.

"Yes, you can," Oswald encouraged, dragging on the sleeve of Frank's jacket to take him into the bullpen. "Just tell them what you told me. It'll be easier, the second time."

Frank didn't answer but shook his head miserably. Oswald ended up having to drag him all the way to Don's desk, worried all the way that Frank would hurl on his neck at any second. Oswald was unaccountably relieved to see Charlie standing with Don over the desk – until he saw the warning looks on everybody else's faces, and heard the continuing argument proceeding, full speed ahead.

"Shut-up and listen to the _numbers_, will you?", Charlie cried in exasperation. "I'm telling you, your in-house experts aren't coming up with the same thing because they're not including all the necessary variables! You've got..."

Don had taken a step closer to Charlie and turned an odd shade of violet at the initial "Shut-up". No-one told him to shut-up, especially not his annoying little brother, in front of all his agents. He poked an index finger into Charlie's chest.

"Say that to me again, and it will be a cold day in hell before you consult with this agency again! What you're suggesting is simply not possible. Even a genius can be wrong sometimes, Charlie!"

Oswald glanced at Colby, who shook his head slightly to warn him off. Then he looked back at Frank, who had pulled out of his grip and was backing toward the elevator, face pale. He swallowed and pulled himself up tall and straight, towering over both Don and Charlie. "HEY!", he yelled, and both men looked at him as if one of the koi in Charlie's pond had spoken. "Frank has something you need to hear. Conference room. Now."

Charlie's eyes widened and Don's narrowed. Oswald, now fearing both Frank's vomit and Don's fist, took off toward the nearest conference room. He had latched onto Frank's jacket again, and literally dragged him along behind. When they reached the room and turned to face the door, Oswald was somewhat surprised to see that the brothers Eppes had followed them. Damn. He should try this assertive stuff more often.

Don's glare made him reassess that thought. "Well?", the senior agent demanded gruffly.

Frank waited until Charlie had slipped far enough inside to close the door behind them. Then, he started off slowly, dividing his attention between the carpet and Oswald.

He repeated the story he had told his friend, adding a few new details that he thought might help convince Don that Fenton was the kingpin of the organization.

Don was listening to him intently. He wasn't sure what to think. For one thing, the boy had been silent for weeks. The very fact that he had suddenly found his voice lent his story credibility. On the other hand, this story was nothing short of insane – maybe he had picked it up in a fan fiction forum somewhere or something.

While he was still deciding what to say, Charlie pounced on the story excitedly. "Don, Don, this makes perfect sense! The variables in my expressions differ from your in-house people because they are all trying to make Jackson and Johnson fit in, somehow! Hardy controls them, politically; he's been using them as a smokescreen! Don, the numbers…"

Don closed his eyes. He really, really needed at least an entire bottle of aspirin. "Shut-up, Charlie," he said, paying his brother back. He stared hard at Frank, who had ended his story with a plea for Joe's safety. "Okay," he said slowly. He sighed and shook his head. "Let me pull a few strings until I can get this sorted out…" He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. He pulled out his cell phone and wandered around in the hallway directly outside the conference room, clearly visible through the glass windows.

Frank watched carefully, judging the expressions on Don's face. "He doesn't believe me," he said miserably, to no-one in particular.

Oswald slapped him a couple of times on his hunched shoulders. "Of course he does," he said, although watching Don himself, he wasn't at all sure that was true. "He's making a call, isn't he?"

Charlie smiled at Frank, but didn't add an opinion. His smile was a little distracted, and his own expression had become a little guarded. He had no problem believing Frank's story – and it wasn't just because it dovetailed nicely with his numbers. He had long hated Fenton Hardy, and he had long known what the man was capable of….

The door slammed back open, nearly pinning Charlie against the wall, and Don advanced in a cold fury toward Frank. "I can't believe you," he said, in his interrogation-room voice. "My father has taken you in, you live in my brother's house, and you have nothing better to do than make up lies to muck up a case that's already driving us all crazy?!"

Oswald suddenly flashed back on the time he was a suspect in a case, and Don had him "in the box". The memory sufficiently paralyzed him, and he was completely unable to repeat his earlier defense of Frank. Frank's own eyes welled with tears, and he took an involuntary step back. "I'm not lying," he whispered. "Joe…"

Don crossed his arms over his chest and spoke sarcastically. "'Joe' nothing," he interrupted. "I just called Chief Collig and asked him to place Joe in protective custody until we could pick him up and arrange safe transport to L.A_. He laughed at me_, dammit! He said he had dinner at your house last night, and he knows for a fact that Joe is safe! Your mother and father decided he should get to relax a little and spend the summer away himself, and he's been with your Uncle Jeff for almost a week!" He turned toward the door again as if to leave. "Why the hell I wasted my time with some troubled teenager my father took in like a stray puppy…"

Two things happened that caused Don to stop. First, Charlie, who was in his line of sight now, suddenly turned gray and swayed, barely managing to latch onto the back of a chair before he passed out and hit the floor. As Don hurried toward him, he heard Frank burst into tears behind him, sounding more like a terrified 7-year-old than a troubled teenager.

Don grabbed his brother's arm. "Sit down," he commanded. "Put your head between your knees."

He barely registered Frank's garbled, tear-thickened words. "Oh, God! Dad's st-started, al-already! Uncle Jeff is a sex-sexual predator, he's been arrested three times, but my, my, my Dad always plants evidence somewhere else, or gets him off on a tech-technicality! My Mom won't let any of us be alone with him, Dad must have forced her cooperation…oh, God, he must have hurt Mom, t-t-too…." He began to cry harder. "It's wrong, it's all wrong!"

Don was squatting next to Charlie's chair. He smoothed his curls as his brother took a few deep breaths, and frowned slightly when he brought his head up suddenly.

"Uncle Jeff. Your father's brother, right?"

Frank looked at him and nodded, visibly trying to regain control. "Y-Yes. But they're, they're half-brothers, so he has a different last name. Henderson." He suddenly looked hopeful. "He should be in the system, even though he was never convicted, right?"

Charlie paled even further and turned his attention to Don. "Jeff Henderson," he whispered, and Don's hand tightened on the back of Charlie's neck.

He thought he might get sick then, himself. Yeah, Henderson was in the system. Maybe he was never convicted of pediophilia, but he did time for beating the hell out of his step-daughter, Jessica Cartman. She had been a friend of Charlie's in elementary school. After her step-father got out of county and court-ordered therapy, he was allowed back in the house, and her mother, stupid woman, had taken him back. Just before she had disappeared, Charlie had come back from an afternoon at the park with her, bruised and bleeding, arm broken, and inexplicably terrified. His brother had always insisted he had fallen off the jungle gym. Not even their mother had been able to get a coherent story out of him, and when the nightmares started a few days later, they told themselves it was because Jessica had run away, and Charlie couldn't understand that.

Don intended to get Charlie to himself and get to the bottom of this, but before he could do anything about it, Charlie's cell rang, making them both jump. Charlie was able to retrieve it from his pocket, but then just held it in a shaking hand, as if he didn't know what to do. Gently, Don took the phone and checked the caller display. Knees creaking, he stood and lifted the phone to his ear, stepping behind Charlie's chair and leaving one hand on his brother's back. "Hi, Dad," he said into the phone. "Charlie's…in a conference room with a witness, right now…." The conversation continued for a few seconds before Don snapped shut the cell and looked apologetically at Frank. "We have a problem."

Frank was still looking at Charlie. He recognized the look in the professor's dark eyes, and he was so floored by it that it dried his own tears. He spoke almost absently to Don. "What?"

"Fenton's coming down to spend the night at Dad's house. He says he's so overjoyed you're speaking again, he wants to see you."

That got Frank's total attention. Even Oswald paled. "How the hell did he find out?", demanded the statistician.

"Dad said it slipped out when Fenton called him yesterday to check on Frank. He said he was sure you were being silly anyway, when you asked him not to say anything."

Now Frank looked like he might pass out. "What are we going to do?"

Don was rubbing circles on Charlie's back, and his brother was wheezing a little. "Hell if I know," he growled.


	8. Dangerous Gym

**Chapter 8**

**So You Didn't Really Fall Off the Jungle Gym?**

Don squatted next to Charlie again, set to ask his brother if he was all right. Before he got the words out, though, Charlie looked at him in absolute terror. "I can't see Fenton, Don, I can't," Charlie said. "I…I can't remember, I don't know exactly how, but I'm convinced he had something to do with Jessica's step-father breaking my arm, right before she disappeared…" He paled, realizing what he had just said, and shrunk back into his chair, away from Don's grip on his arm.

Don ignored everyone else in the room and just squeezed harder. "Talk," he commanded. "Tell me. When you came home that day, you said you had fallen off the jungle gym in the park."

Charlie swallowed hard. He looked for a moment at Frank, and suddenly felt an unbearable weight on his chest. Maybe, if he had told the truth all those years ago, this young boy wouldn't have that look in his eyes, now. He looked back at Don, his eyes at once pleading for forgiveness and compassion from his brother. "D-Dad and Fenton were in a charity golf game. Fenton set it up, and he came for the weekend.

Mom and Dad asked him to stay with us, but he said he was staying with his brother, Jeff." The plea moved from Charlie's eyes to his voice. "So he had to know, don't you see? I can't remember…but I know he was staying there that weekend, and I know I went over on Saturday morning to help Jessica with her math homework. We were going to go to the park when we were finished." Charlie's voice broke, and he looked away from Don. "It was the basement. We went down to the basement to find Jessica's roller skates." When he looked back at Don, his eyes had taken on a blank glaze, and his voice was remote. "Her step-father was down there, working on the water heater. He got angry…I think…I remember him hitting me, over and over. We tried to run, but he chased us up the stairs and threw us back down…that's when I broke my arm…"

Oswald made a noise of disgust and moved closer to Charlie, but stopped walking when the professor looked up at him, jerking as if to escape approaching disaster.

Don closed his eyes. He believed Charlie. He had seen the bruises, been awoken by the screaming nightmares, Charlie hadn't acted "normal" for a year, clinging to Don every chance he got. It had annoyed Don, then – he didn't understand. If Charlie had told him someone had hurt him…. Oh, God, if Charlie had only have told them!

The problem now, was, it wasn't exactly something he could arrest Fenton for – possibly knowing about child abuse, unfortunately, was not a crime. He sighed, and spoke gently, his hand still on Charlie's arm. "I'm so sorry, Charlie. I'd give anything if I could make it so that if never happened. No wonder Jessica ran away." He held Charlie's gaze for a long moment, then finally half-stood and dropped heavily into a nearby chair. "I don't really see a way we can avoid going home. You know how Dad feels about Fenton. Besides, if he was really part of what happened to you, I want him to fry. If what Frank says is true, I want all the evidence on him that I can get, so he never sees daylight again!"

Don had raised his voice, and Charlie visibly flinched. Don forced himself to calm down and think like an FBI agent, instead of a brother. Surprisingly, it worked, and it wasn't long before he had a plan. He started with the simplest part first, and looked at Oswald. "I think you can help with this. You up for it?"

Oswald nodded enthusiastically. "Hell, yes."

Don smiled grimly. "Good. I need to talk to Colby, but if it's okay with him, I want you to spend the night with him tonight. I'm not sure what time I'll have to call you in, and it'll save time if you're together. You can fill him in on some of the background, too." Frank suddenly looked a little sick, and Don tried to reassure him. "I can't do this on my own, kid, the team has got to know. They're good people…and, I'm sorry to say…most of us have heard worse, in our time." Frank shrugged silently, and Don turned to his brother again. "Charlie, I want you to take Frank home. Prolong it as long as you can. Get gas in the car, whatever. Grab a soda with Frank, or something. Make it as late as you can. I'll distract Dad, somehow." Charlie had paled even further, if that was possible, and was shaking his head. Don reached out to touch him again, gently. "I promise you, Buddy, you will never be alone with that man." Don suddenly pulled his hand back and snapped his fingers. "I've got it! Dad said that Fenton is stopping to pick up Joe to bring him as well; he wants to spend the weekend with his brother. I'll suggest to Dad that the four brothers all go back to my apartment! Dad will try to talk us into staying at the house, but I'll tell him the Brothers Eppes want to introduce the Brothers Hardy into some L.A. nightlife, or something. Listen, Charlie, it's your house – do I have your permission to plant listening devices in the guest rooms?"

Charlie was having a tough time following. For one thing, Don was almost in stream-of-consciousness mode. For another, Charlie was still almost paralyzed. "Huh?", he asked.

Don shrugged. "Not sure it's gonna pay off, but it's worth a shot. Fenton might make a phone call, or something…and I'm not sure which room Dad will put him in."

Frank was relieved Joe was getting away from Jeff so quickly; almost giddy at the prospect of seeing him; grateful beyond words that Don was going to get them both away from Fenton tonight; and terrified that something was going to go wrong. He knew his father was only bringing Joe to use him as leverage and force Frank's cooperation. In his plethora of emotion, he managed a small squeak. "My brother's coming?"

Don finally looked at Frank with more than a cursory glance. The kid loved his brother. He had endured all kinds of hell to keep him safe, and was no doubt ready for more.

He was starting to like this kid.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The other team members were waiting, even though it was after hours, by the time they all came out of the conference room. Charlie was staggering a little, like a colt on new legs, and Colby regarded him with concern. "You okay, Whiz Kid?"

Don rested a hand on Charlie's back and answered for him. "He's fine. Thanks for waiting, guys – we've got a major breakthrough in the case. Oswald, you stay here with me for right now; Charlie, you and Frank don't have to listen to this again. Remember what I said – take your time getting home."

Charlie shot him a grateful and silent glance, nodded, and headed for the elevator.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie filled up his car with gas, and drove to the nearest McDonald's. He was still shell-shocked, and also had a nagging feeling that what he couldn't remember was the most important part of all. He didn't even notice the irony when the formerly-silent Frank had to order for both of them.

They had been nursing sodas and ignoring a side of fries for almost an hour when Charlie's cell trilled. Neither of them had spoken in all that time, and Charlie jumped, then fumbled in his jacket pocket. He flipped the cell open in dread, recognizing his father's ring tone. "Y-y-yes?"

"Charlie?" Alan sounded a little confused. "Everything all right? Don told me you were in a conference room with a witness – since when do you do the interrogations?"

"Maybe later," Charlie said, surprised himself when he heard the words. That made no sense at all.

Apparently, Alan agreed, and now concern crept into his voice. "What? Son, are you all right? Where are you?"

With gargantuan effort, Charlie tried to pull himself together. "No. I mean, yes. I'm sorry, Dad, I'm just a little distracted. I'm fine. Frank and I stopped for a soda."

Alan chuckled a little. "Maybe you'd better let him drive home. Are you grading papers, or something?"

Charlie couldn't, for the life of him, muster a chuckle. "I'll be careful," he insisted, weakly.

Alan chuckled again. "I should hope so. Listen, Charlie, I called because Fenton and Joe are here. They'd like to see Frank. Oh! And Don just got here, too. I have enough beer and wine in the house for the adults, but since you're still on the way home, could you stop at the store and pick up some soda, maybe some ice cream?"

Charlie must have given the right answer, because Alan signed off cheerfully. Charlie was anything but cheerful when he looked across the table at Frank, however. Frank was no idiot. In spite of the fact that he knew this was coming, his heart sank. "They're here already," he whispered.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Joe sat nervously on the couch, pretending to be reading one of the books he had picked up off the coffee table,__but carefully watching Fenton. He was nervous because Charlie and Frank hadn't come home yet.

Don sat on the other end of the couch, Alan was in his recliner, and Fenton had pulled up another chair from the dining room. "It's surprising how old he is now, isn't it?", teased Alan, indicating Don with a tilt of his head. "Both the boys went and grew up on me. I'm very proud of both of them, as you must be of Frank and Joe. Don and Charlie have even been working together, the last few years!"

"Indeed?", smiled Fenton, resembling a Cheshire cat.

Alan smiled happily. "It's wonderful to see. Oh, and you'll have to meet Oswald, while you're here. Maybe we'll have a barbecue tomorrow and invite him over, or something. He's a young friend of the family, and he and Frank have been spending a lot of time together. You remember, I told you…"

"Yes," Fenton interrupted, stealing a stony look at Joe, "the young man who was able to make Frank talk. I certainly do look forward to meeting him."

"Charlie and Frank shouldn't be much longer," Alan said. "I asked them to stop at the store." Before he could continue, Don stood, excused himself and headed up the stairs. Alan figured there must be something in his old room he needed. Or maybe he had to use the restroom. He smiled at Don's back, and then looked back at Fenton. "I know you said you could only stay one or two nights, but I'd be happy to have Joe spend the rest of the summer with his brother, if he wants. I miss having two boys in the house."

"Well, Joe?" Fenton asked, nodding slightly as if to say it was okay. Anyone else would have missed it, but Joe always looked for it before he said 'yes' to anything, even though the prospect of staying with Alan – and away from Fenton – nearly made him shout for joy. Joe nodded slowly, and smiled shyly at Alan. "I'd like that," he admitted, scared to death that as soon as he said it, his father would forbid it.

Don trudged back down the stairs. "Dad," he said gruffly, "the door was unlocked again when I got here. How many times do I have to tell you how unsafe that is?"

Alan laughed. "I had just let Fenton and Joe in," he hedged. "Oh, Don, you should have seen Oswald's face this morning when he came to pick up Frank and found the door unlocked. He really let me have it – you would have been proud!"

Don noted the apprehensive looks Joe kept aiming towards Fenton – and also that the book he was pretending to read was upside-down. After hearing Frank's and Charlie's stories, he was worried about Joe, too. The Joe Frank had described; the Joe that Don remembered, was not subdued and frightened, like this one. He had to make sure he got him, and Frank – and especially Charlie – out of here, tonight. At least the listening devices were placed.

As if thinking of his brother had somehow conjured him into existence, the front door opened cautiously and Charlie entered slowly, followed by Frank. Don could see the tension in his shoulders and hear the reluctance in his voice, but hopefully, no-one else noticed. "Dad," Charlie said softly, shifting a 24-pack of soda in his grip, "don't you ever lock a door?"

Alan and Fenton laughed heartily, having just heard the same from Don, and Fenton stood easily. "Charlie," he greeted. "It's good to see you again." His eyes flitted to his eldest son. "Frank. You're looking quite well. Your mother and I have missed you."

Frank froze in his tracks, unable to look away from Fenton, unable to move, even though he longed to grab Joe and run out of the house. The bag of ice cream slipped out of his hands and thudded on the floor.

He wondered if he would ever breathe again.

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews this far. It's going to get into some of Charlie's past, Frank's past, and into some "interesting" stuff. I think you'll be surprised at the next chapter. _

_I'd like __**at least**__ five reviews before I post the next one up. I know you people are reading, and just not reviewing. _

_After this, I'll leave the review count at that – whoever reviews, so be it._

_THANKS TO FRAIDYCAT MAJORLY – SHE SPENT A LONG TIME WORKING ON THIS. _


	9. Can't We All Just Be Friends?

Ch9: Can't We All Be Friends?

Ch9: The Best Laid Plans

Couldn't pick which title to use. Pick one you like the best.

------------------------------------------------------

Disclaimer: Does anyone else notice that I haven't been putting in a disclaimer the entire book? Well… Here's one.

IF I DON'T OWN HALF THE WORDS TO MY OWN STORY, HOW THE HECK AM I SUPPOSED TO WRITE AN INTERNATIONALLY FAMOUS TV SHOW? Meh. You people are funny.

_Okay. Now that I know I have reviewers, continue to review, please. I hope to get the next chapter out when or before I hit 5 reviews. I just have to finish typing it, first…_

------------------------------------------------------

Charlie glanced at Frank at the supper table. It was apparent that he was excited that his brother Joe was there. Despite the emotional trauma of his recent confession to Don, which still nagged at his subconscious about some important lost detail, Charlie found himself pleased to see Frank so relaxed and happy. Frank sat protectively close to Joe, and Charlie got the feeling he wouldn't be letting his little brother roam very far away for a while. He glanced at Don, across the table, and half-smiled. He knew what it felt like to have an older brother who looked out for you that way – and there was no other feeling like it.

Alan informed his sons that Joe would be joining them for the summer, and Don pounced on the information. If Fenton was in an agreeable mood, he might as well bring up the idea of taking them to his apartment for the evening. "Hey," he said casually, reaching for the salt. "I'm not on call, tonight, Dad. Charlie and I were thinking we should take Frank and Joe back to my place, after dinner. Get a taste of the bachelor life in L.A., and all of that." Alan frowned slightly, and Don hurried on. "You know I hardly ever have nights when I'm not on call. Especially during the summer, and the team ends up covering for everybody else's vacations. Besides, you and Fenton might enjoy a little bonding time yourselves, after so many years!"

Alan was listening, but his eyes were on Charlie. He had been unusually quiet, and he seemed a bit flushed. He had been working hard this week, getting very little sleep, and it hadn't been that long since he'd been down for four days with a particularly nasty flu bug. "Charlie? Son, are you feeling all right?"

Charlie was a little startled when he felt everyone's eyes on him. In truth, even before he had made his confession, he had a pounding headache. He had been watching Frank and Joe at the dinner table because looking at the food made him slightly nauseous. Still, Charlie tried to smile and did his part to ensure the plan worked. "What? Yeah, Dad, I'm okay. I'm up for Don's idea, really. The boys would love it."

Alan looked dubious. "I don't know. It's true that Don is hardly ever off call, and Frank and Joe would enjoy seeing a little L.A. nightlife" – he shook a finger at Don –"although you shouldn't keep them up too late, or use your ID to get them into some place they shouldn't be!" He redirected his attention to Charlie. "I'm just not sure it's a good idea for you to join them, tonight. You look tired, and a little feverish."

Don looked quickly at Charlie. Crap. His father was right. That quickly, he found himself exactly where he did not want to be. He knew Charlie had really been sick a couple of weeks ago, and he realized he had pushed him hard, this week. Plus, his brother was probably still reeling from what he'd admitted at the FBI office. The whole plan could go down in flames.

If Don suddenly decided to stay here, it would look suspicious. Plus, there were already so many people here, he would end up bunking in the garage, and he couldn't keep anybody safe from there. It was absolutely imperative that he get Frank and Joe out of here, tonight. He swallowed thickly, feeling like a traitor. "Maybe you should get some rest tonight, Buddy. Fenton, I really would enjoy having the boys for the night. It'll make me feel young, again!" He registered the shock and dismay on Charlie's face, and it hurt more than the time a perp caught him in the arm with a 7" knife.

Fenton chewed thoughtfully on his steak, then took a sip of wine while at least three people at the table held their breath – and one started to sway almost imperceptibly. "I think that could work out," he said to his glass as he set it back down, smiling. Quickly, he looked across the table at Don. "I mean, yes, perhaps my sons would get a kick out of that." His eyes flickered to Charlie and took on a glint of steel. "Plus, if Charlie's ill, he doesn't need two rambunctious teenagers disturbing his rest, now, does he?"

Frank felt immediate joy clouded with terror. He could tell Charlie really was sick, and there was no way they were getting him out of here. On the other hand, he could get Joe out. He listened to his brother, who had no idea what was going on but was genuinely excited by the idea, thank their father politely, watched Charlie suddenly pale and stagger to his feet. Even when Charlie lurched down the hall, crashing into the downstairs bathroom, and Frank could hear him throwing up, he wasn't sure who felt worse.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don had waved his father back down into his chair and followed Charlie down the hall. Now he knelt beside him on the cold tile floor and rubbed his back. He had shut the door behind them, both because he did not want to be heard, and because it wasn't all that pleasant to eat dinner while you could hear someone throwing up. Still, he spoke lowly. "Charlie, Buddy, I'm sorry. It's obvious you're sick, Dad would never go for you leaving the house tonight. I swear, it'll be all right. Fenton would never try anything with Dad in the house."

With his free hand Don stretched to reach for the glass beside the sink and managed to get some water into it. He offered it to Charlie, who was hugging the toilet, but eventually let go, sat back on his heels a little and accepted the water. After rinsing out his mouth, he handed the glass back, wiped off his face with the back of one hand and looked miserably at Don. "I hope you're right," he almost-whispered, and Don's heart lurched.

Dear God.

So did he.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don took the long way back to his apartment, so that he could drive past the FBI building and show Joe where Frank had been hanging out all week. He looked at the brothers in his rear view mirror. They were obviously pleased and relieved to be together, even though they were pretty quiet. They had insisted on riding in the back seat, and Don was sure it was so that they could be together. He was a little jealous, and definitely had to work to suppress his "hinky-ometer", as Colby called it. He wished his own brother was safely tucked in the passenger seat. They stopped at an al-night market, since Don had only beer and one moldy tomato in his apartment, and while they were at the checkout counter, he decided he had waited long enough. He called home to talk to Charlie.

Alan informed him that Charlie was soundly asleep, safely tucked in bed, and encouraged him to have a good time with the boys. With one hand Don flipped his cell shut, while with the other he tossed some Oreos on the conveyor belt.

Son of a bitch. His "hinky-ometer" was driving him crazy.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

At the apartment, the Hardy brothers tore open the cookies, as well as a bag of tortilla chips, and threw themselves on the floor in front of the television. Frank looked up at Don, who was impressed at the steel in the young man's voice. "If it's okay, we'll just watch that DVD Joe rented at the store. Then I'll tell him why we're really here. You don't have to take us out, or anything."

Joe looked up, surprised, chip halfway to his mouth. "What? What do you mean, 'why we're really here'?" He had been lying down, but now sat up so he could see his brother better. "What's going on?"

Don decided to give them a moment alone before providing Frank some back-up. Besides, while he was making up the guest room, he could call Colby. He wanted the team and Oswald at the offices bright and early. They were going to find a way to fry this bastard.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie lay on his back in the darkness of his bedroom and stared at the general direction of his ceiling. His father had checked on him before he went to bed himself, and Charlie had pretended to be asleep. In reality, he was much too terrified to be asleep. In reality, he was counting the seconds before the digital numbers in his alarm clock rolled over to a new minute, not really realizing he was doing it. He was trying not to think. He didn't want to remember whatever it was his mind was trying to bring to the surface – there was probably a good reason it was buried. And he didn't want to lie here feeling abandoned, and angry at Don. His brother had done the best he could – and at least Frank and Joe were safe.

In spite of his resolve not to sleep, Charlie's fever eventually won out, and as he knew they would be, the nightmares were waiting to pounce. When he awoke, drenched in sweat, heart pounding, his father was smoothing the hair from his brow. "Shh, Charlie, it's a dream. It's only a dream. You're all right, son."

Charlie kept his eyes squeezed his shut and tried to slow his breathing. Was the fever really that high? It had been so real, so terrifying…

He was falling down stairs. Where? Why? He couldn't remember. He shuddered, and half-sobbed as his father continued to soothe him. Jessica. He could see Jessica…

Without fully awakening, Charlie was claimed by sleep again. The next time he awoke, Fenton Hardy was standing over his bed. Charlie gasped and struggled with the covers, trying to sit up, sure he was trapped in another nightmare.

Fenton laughed lowly and pushed him back down with one finger to the shoulder. "Hello, Charlie," he whispered. "Time for us to have some 'quality time', don't you think?"

Charlie shrank into the pillows, willing the nightmare away. "Please," he pleaded. "Please. I need to wake up, now."

Fenton laughed again. "Trust me, you are awake." He leaned toward Charlie, his voice menacing. "Tell me what you told your brother in the conference room today."

Charlie could feel his breath on his face and blinked in terror. This nightmare was even more real than the last one. He shook his head, and tears flew out of the corners of his eyes. "Go 'way. Stop. I d-d-didn't tell him anything!"

In one movement, Fenton clapped one hand over his mouth, effectively stifling Charlie's scream when he pinched his arm so hard with the other hand that he drew blood. "You aren't dreaming, Charlie," he hissed. And you told him something. There's a break in the case he's working, and I know it's because of you. Do you not know by now who you're dealing with? I have ears everywhere! I promised you once before, little Eppes, you breathe a word of what happened in that basement, and I will kill you both. I will make you watch, when I kill him! You know I'll do it. You know that, Charlie."

The only way Charlie was stopping this nightmare, he realized at the same moment that he realized it was not a nightmare, was by passing out.

And so, he did.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The DVD he had rented long forgotten, Joe stared at Frank and shook his head. "No," he insisted. "That's not true. None of it."

His voice broke at the end, and Frank spoke gently. "Then what happened to your arm? That scar wasn't there when I left, Joe. It doesn't matter which one of them did it to you – Dad, or Jeff – neither one of them has the right to touch you!"

Joe started crying and looked away. Frank groaned inwardly. He had been trying to make his brother talk, not cry. "Look," he said, "I know Dad's hit you in the past – we live in the same house, remember? The walls are thin. And I know he sent you to Jeff. Talk to me, Joe."

Joe blinked, still looking away, trying unsuccessfully to stem the flow of tears. He nodded miserably. "He was angry I found out," he finally choked.

Frank repeated his words. "Angry you found out…" Cold fear clenched in his stomach. "Joe, do you know about the organization?"

Joe's head whipped around, his tears temporarily under control as he gaped at Frank. "You know, too? Is that was really happened to you, when you were kidnapped?"

Frank didn't really want to admit it, but it was important that Frank understand how high the stakes were. "And the…the gang, too. He arranged that. We need to help Don stop him."

Joe shook his head, again. "Alan said we could both live with him," Joe said. "Won't that work?"

Frank looked at him sadly. "Joe, this isn't just about you and me. And even if it was, it's not like anywhere is safe, for us. He would still know where we are He has people everywhere. I'm pretty sure even Chief Collig's one of them."

Joe's eyes widened. "What? That's impossible! He tried to help me, I told him Dad was hitting me…." He paled, suddenly remembering that it was after he went to the Chief for help that his father had sent him to Jeff. "Oh, no…"

"We gotta talk to Don," Frank said, scrambling to his feet. "Right away."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan had been quiet in the kitchen, loathe to awaken Charlie. His son had been restless all night, and he had wanted him to sleep in as long as he could. Now, though, he crashed into Don's old room like a bear, shouting his friend's name. "FENTON!"

His old friend turned, still buttoning his shirt, raised eyebrows. "Alan?"

Alan spoke rapidly, running a hand through his hair. "My God. I just got a call…I don't know what happened, since he wasn't supposed to be on call last night…it was the hospital. Don's been hurt."

Fenton feigned surprise and concern. "Oh, dear. I hope it's nothing serious…"

Alan pressed a slip of paper and a door key into his hand, his voice growing more frantic. "I don't know, I don't know…. Here's my key to Don's apartment, and his address. You'd better go pick up the boys, and bring them back here." He frowned, slightly. "I can't believe Don left them alone…"

Fenton stepped in to distract him. "Is Charlie going with you to the hospital? He probably shouldn't take his germs there," he gently pointed out.

Alan looked toward Charlie's closed door. "No. He's still asleep, and I don't want to worry him before I know what's going on. I already called you a cab, you can make the trip to Don's apartment in 10 minutes. With any luck, Charlie will sleep until after you all get back…and I'll call as soon as I can…"

Fenton smiled, patting Alan on the shoulder as he steered him out of the room. "Go," he said. "Don't worry. I'll take care of everything."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The house seemed eerily quiet, when Charlie finally pried his eyes open. Morning sunlight streamed through his window and made the ache in his head start up again. At first, he considered simply rolling over and going back to sleep. Then he remembered his nightmares – one of which he was pretty sure really happened, and sat up quickly. He swayed dizzily and looked at the door, trying to think rationally.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was only 6:30 in the morning. If he could get downstairs before anyone woke up, he could sneak out of the house and take the first bus he found. Eventually, his destination would be Don's apartment. As stealthily as he could, considering he kept having to grab things so he wouldn't fall over, Charlie dressed and staggered to the door. He placed his ear against it for a moment. Hearing nothing, he slowly creaked it open. His father's door was shut, as was the door to Don's old room, where Fenton was staying. Charlie started for the stairs, and then hesitated. He decided to risk a trip to the bathroom, deciding that wetting his pants on the bus might attract unwanted attention. Also, he intended to grab some aspirin.

He was careful not to run any water, dry-swallowing the pills with a grimace. He also avoided the noise of flushing, even though it oddly disgusted him to do so. He repeated the ear-against-the-door trick, and then opened the door a few inches, squeezing into the hallway as soon as he could.

He had gotten three steps away from the bathroom when a surly voice behind him momentarily froze his feet. "Hello, Charlie. Long time, no see. Jessica sends her best."

Charlie looked quickly over his shoulder and confirmed his fear. Jeff Henderson was leering at him from his position just outside the bathroom. Immediately, Charlie's "flight-or-fight" response kicked in, and he started running the way he was going in the first place, for the stairs. He didn't even bother to scream, he just took off, determined to get away from the apparition.

Charlie had time to think that Jeff Henderson must not be a ghost as the hit to the back of his knees sent him flying down the staircase. As he tumbled, head over heels, to the floor below, he suddenly remembered that little, nagging, thing about the basement that had eluded him for years.

And when he did, he greeted unconsciousness with open arms.

------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Thanks to FraidyCat. This book would not exist as it does. For those who think I've much improved, it's because I'm improving under her help. (I appreciate the compliment, though!)


	10. Even Heroes Need A Parachute

Chapter 10: Even Heroes Need A Parachute 

Don had managed to calm the younger boys down, a little. "Look," he reasoned. "We already knew Collig was dirty, Frank. Now that we know what Joe told him, it should be a little easier to use that information to bring him down."

The calm sureness of the older man seeped into Frank, and eventually, he felt himself relaxing. He even must have fallen asleep, although he couldn't really remember getting ready for bed. The next thing he knew, the pungent smell of strong coffee was waking him up. Joe was curled up on his side on the edge of the bed closest to the door, and Frank smiled. The two hadn't shared a bed since Joe was still in diapers! Frank knew that Don had intended to pull out the foldout couch for one of them, last night, so sharing the guest room had not been necessary. Joe must have wanted to be near Frank as much as Frank craved being near Joe, right now.

Frank scooted off the other side of the bed and grabbed the small duffle bag they had brought with them to Don's apartment, last night. As he passed by Joe on the way to the door, he couldn't resist pulling on a toe that stuck out from underneath the blankets. Joe always slept with one foot outside of the covers, as if he had to be ready to hit the floor and run at any time. The image made Frank's grin fade. The way Fenton had shoved the kid around all his life, he probably actually felt that way…

Joe stirred and blinked a groggy eye at him. He always woke up easily, too, and Frank was getting unhappier about his brother's sleeping habits.

"'smornin'?", the youngest Hardy yawned, and Frank yanked on his toe again and forced himself to grin.

"Dibbs on all the hot water," he teased, turning towards the door again. Joe's pillow thumped him solidly on the back as he made his way into the hall, looking for the bathroom he couldn't remember using the night before.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don wasn't much of a cook – and he had no problem with that. That's what his Dad's house was for. At least when he put some $12.00 steaks on the barbecue, he generally didn't forget about them, so he was ahead of Charlie.

So, the FBI agent didn't feel badly at all, as he stood in the kitchen and sipped at his morning coffee, having just plunked a box of Trix cereal onto the small eating island between Frank and Joe. The boys had picked it out themselves at the store the night before, and he had remembered milk, so they should be happy. As for himself, another quart of high-octane java and he would be fine until lunch. He leaned against the counter and watched them banter, even arguing over the toy in the box, and smiled into the coffee cup. It was going to be a hectic and hard day for them, once they all got to the Bureau, and he was glad to see that they were a little more relaxed than they were last night.

Had Don known who was walking down the hallway at that moment, he would not have been smiling.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Keep eating, I've got it," Don commanded at the knock on the apartment door. "It must be Colby and Oswald…" He glanced at the kitchen clock as he passed the boys and headed down the short hallway. He automatically checked his hip for his weapon. It shouldn't be Colby, Don had asked him to bring Oswald directly to the office. It was always possible they were early, and Oswald nagged Colby into letting him see his new friend first – or maybe it was Charlie. Don's face brightened. He hoped it was Charlie. Maybe his brother found a way out of the house!

The last thing he was prepared to see through the peephole, when he looked, was a uniformed LAPD officer – and Fenton Hardy. Startled, he backed away from the door a little and looked at the boys' backs, then back to the door. "Guys. Get in the guest room. NOW!" Even though Don was hissing, something made the command sound like a scream in the small apartment, and instantly both brothers were on alert. Over the last few days, Frank had learned that there was generally a good reason for people to jump when Don issued an order, so now he grabbed Joe's arm, dragged him off the barstool and down the hall. They slid past Don without question.

When he saw that they were safely tucked away back in the guest room, he stepped up to the door, unchained it, turned the lock, and pulled it open a few inches. His solid body blocked all entrance to his apartment. "Fenton. Is there a problem?", he asked, calmly.

Don tried not to register shock when Hardy lunged forward and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. "Where are my sons, you bastard?" His eyes moved to the holster clipped at Don's hip, and he looked at the officer. "He's armed. Dangerous!"

The officer finally stepped forward a little and shrugged at Don apologetically. Dispatch had said the suspect was an FBI agent, and by the book, he should have insisted on his weapon right away. This was how cops got killed, after all. Still, this was one shitty way to end a shift. "Please don't move your hands toward your piece, and just answer me. Are Frank and Joe Hardy in this apartment?"

The needle of Don's hinky-ometer blew off the gauge, and his heart sank. Careful to leave his hands in clear view, he answered clearly. "Yes. They spent the night here. Mr. Hardy agreed to that arrangement. He's a guest of my father's."

The officer turned to look at Fenton. "Is that true?"

Fenton backed away from Don a little and presented a shocked face to the policeman. "Yes, I'm a guest at Alan Eppes, but no, no, I NEVER said this madman could take my children!" He even managed to tear up, a little. "That's a preposterous lie!" To any man who didn't know better, he would look and sound like a terrified, loving father. Don was almost convinced himself.

The officer sighed. He twisted his hat in his hands. It was a moment before he finally spoke, and even then his voice sounded nervous. "Agent, please use two fingers of your left hand to turn over your weapon until this matter is settled. And I'll need to see the boys."

Fenton moved a little farther away from the officer, shaking his head angrily. "This pervert doesn't deserve any kid-glove treatment! He's had my sons all night, God knows what he's done to them! I'm a respected private investigator, and I DEMAND to SEE MY SONS!"

The officer accepted Don's service weapon and shrugged again, almost imperceptivity. "Just call them," he instructed gently. "Don't move away from the door. Please."

Don tried to argue. "He's lying," he insisted. "This man is a suspect in an on-going FBI investigation, his PI business is just for cover! You can't let him have those boys!"

"That'll be up to the judge," answered the LAPD cop. "Right now, he and his wife share legal custody. Please call them. Don't make me ask again."

Don turned his head to look toward the guest room, and saw that Frank and Joe were standing in the open doorway. They had heard everything. He had a sudden inspiration, waved them forward, and appealed to the officer again. "They're right here. You can see that they're safe. At least ask them whether or not they were held here against their will!"

Fenton, still standing slightly to the rear of the policeman, allowed his eyes to glint when his sons stepped into view. He looked at Frank, tilted his head meaningfully in Joe's direction, and slowly drew his hand across his throat. Don did not miss this. He, in fact, had a brief second of panic. Frank won't lie. He knows I can protect Joe. He knows I won't hurt him, Don thought.

Frank freaked out. Panicked. Took a dive. He was terrified. Scared. His knees were knocking. No! I can't have him kill Joe. My only hope is to keep him safe.

Before Don could protest further to the policeman, Fenton stepped forward and started screaming again, pointing at Joe. "Look!", he said excitedly. "That's a fresh wound on his forearm, and my sons are obviously frightened. This sonuvabitch has been torturing them!"

He made a show of lunging at Don, but the officer held him back, with effort, and looked at the boys. "Frank and Joe? Go ahead, you can tell me the truth. Are you hear with your father's permission, or did this man take you by force?"

Frank's wide eyes traveled slowly from his father's sneer, to the officer's kind face, to Joe's speechless terror, to Don's almost pleading stare. He knew what he had to do. As an older brother himself, Don would eventually understand. He continued staring at Don, hoping to make him see that he had no choice, and how sorry he was. Tears filled his eyes. "Yes," he finally whispered. "This man took us from Alan Eppes' home, last night, and brought us here by force." He almost sobbed out the last sentence. "We don't want to be here."

The police officer looked stonily at a stunned Don. "Please step into the hall and place your hands behind your back. I'm placing you under arrest for suspicion of first degree kidnapping." When Don just stared at him, mouth hanging open, the officer moved in behind him, and literally pushed him into the corridor, securing his hands with cuffs as he recited Don's Miranda rights.

Fenton rushed past in a blaze of triumph and pulled both of his sons to him fiercely. "Thank-you," he breathed, turning his performance up a notch. "God in Heaven, Officer, thank-you so much!"

Don stood silently in the hallway, listening to his rights from the wrong side, and watching Fenton Hardy manhandle two kids who had already been through too much; teenagers who were standing like mute, broken statues. Don knew that eventually someone would believe him – he had the whole team to back him up, plus his father, and Charlie.

He was just afraid that by the time everything was straightened out with him, it would be too late for Frank and Joe.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie awoke in a basement much like the one he'd been in with Jessica. Hell, maybe it was even the same basement. He couldn't believe it. He'd finally remembered what happened, and now he couldn't stop remembering. He shivered, not even noticing the achingly familiar pain in his arm, swallowing hard against bile rising in his throat.

— FLASHBACK —

Charlie and Jessica walked downstairs to find Jessica's roller skates. "I knew I put them down somewhere!" She muttered out loud.

Charlie grinned. "I bet they're somewhere around here," he said, pointing to her old box of outdoor stuff. He dug in the box to find nothing. Disappointed, he turned around. Jeff clambered down the stairs.

"God-damn it, Jessica!" Jeff let out a string of cuss words Charlie had not heard before. Jessica flinched. Charlie turned to flee up the stairs, but Fenton's face was there, blocking him. He was roughly shoved back down by Fenton, and landed on in a crumpled heap on his arm. "Fenton, this stupid kid probably saw the box!"

Fenton cussed out loud. He then angrily turned to look at Charlie. "Son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be tutoring or something?"

"He – he was tutoring me," Jessica stuttered. Fenton turned to her and smacked her across the face.

"Shut her up," Fenton warned Jeff. Jeff nodded, and covered her mouth with his hand. Fenton moved menacingly towards Charlie. "Don't say a word," he ordered, shoving him into the wall – hard.

"What are we going to do?" Jeff panicked. "They saw the box, Fenton, they saw the box. I have all kinds of shit in that box! I was about to burn it!"

"We don't need to do anything rash, Jeff," Fenton said. He glanced at Charlie, who was cowered in the corner.

"Yes, we do! They saw it, I know they did!" Jeff was panicked now. His adrenaline was on full alert.

"Jeff. They're kids," Fenton said. "To them, it's just a box of papers." He turned towards Charlie. "Isn't that right?" He asked, twisting his arm behind his back. Charlie screamed as he heard something snap. Tears ran his face when Fenton finally let go.

"You probably broke his arm! We have to _kill_ them, Fenton – we have to kill them!"

"We **aren't** going to do anything rash!" Fenton snapped. He glared at Charlie. "What did you see?"

Charlie couldn't answer through his tears. The pain in his arm hurt more then anything he'd ever imagined.

"I SAID WHAT DID YOU SEE?" Fenton asked. Charlie stared at him. "He saw a box of papers," Fenton said, turning to Jeff. "We're – Jeff, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to kill her," Jeff said. "Kill Jessica. She deserves it."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Nooooooo!" Charlie tried to get it out of his head, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. _I can't. I have to. I can't. I can't. I can't!_

_---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_A/N: I will probably rewrite this flashback again. Herre's it for now._


	11. Cant Get There From Here

**Chapter 11: ****Can't Get There From Here**

_---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Frank grimaced as Fenton ushered them to the car. He was all smiles now, but both he and Joe knew it would be hell later. He was about ready to cry. He hated lying to the police officer. He hated it. But he had to protect Joe.

"That was very good of you, Frank," Fenton said once they had watched Don loaded into the back of a patrol car and driven away. He smiled at Frank, but it wasn't a fatherly smile. Something about it made Frank's bones shiver.

Fenton started the engine of his own car and pulled out of the apartment complex's parking lot. A few minutes later, when he was sure no-one was following them, Fenton pulled over into a small convenience store. Since he had gotten Frank to lie about Alan's kid, he was confident he had the upper hand, again. As long as Frank was worried about Joe, he would do whatever his father demanded. Fenton wasn't concerned about any more mutinies – he had even let the boys sit together in the back seat. Joe was sniveling like the little wretch he was, and Frank was patting his brother absently on the knee. Just to be on the safe side, Fenton glared at them in the rear view mirror. "I'm going inside. If you move so much as a centimeter, or say _anything to anyone_, I swear to God I'll bash both your heads in."

Frank just nodded, his eyes locked on Fenton's in the rear view mirror. He was back to being mute again, thinking that if he had never talked, this never would have happened. Joe's crying kicked up a notch, and his stomach clenched in cold, hard fear. He was terrified of what was to come.

Fenton didn't know whether to be happy it was going so well, or disgusted at his spineless sons. He tried to make up his mind as he climbed out of the vehicle and went into the store. As soon as Fenton walked inside, Frank leaned a little closer to Joe, and clutched at his knee. "I want you to run," he whispered quietly.

Joe was so shocked he stopped crying. He turned wide eyes to Frank. "Run? Are you _crazy? _He'll kill you, and probably me, too!"

"I don't think he'll kill me," Frank said, remembering what he'd overheard at the compound, "and to be completely honest with you, even if he does…" Breaking off the thought, he took his hand off Joe's knee and dug around in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out all the cash he had. "Trust me," he pleaded, shoving it at Joe. "You've got to hurry. Stay low, don't go anywhere he would think to look, like the FBI building. Just get out of town, somehow, and run for your life!"

Joe shook his head and looked stubbornly away. "What about you?", he asked the window. "I won't leave without you, and I won't take your money. Where would I go, anyway? And what good would my life be, if you're not part of it?"

Frank swallowed hard and spoke thickly, shoving the money at Joe, again. "Please. You've got to go now. I'm going to distract Fenton. I'll find you somehow. I swear, Joe, I'll find you!" Before Joe could protest further, Frank dropped the few bills in his lap and scooted out of the door. Outside, he leaned to look in the window, and allowed Joe to see the tears in his eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment. Slowly, Joe's hand closed over the money, he broke the gaze, and opened his own door.

Frank waited until Joe was out of sight behind the store before he walked in. He spied his father and another man in a corner, and strode up to them boldly. "Did you really think you'd get away with this?", he demanded, and Fenton's head whipped around in surprise.

"What the hell, Frank! You disobeyed my orders!" His eyes strayed toward the front of the store and he began to look a little uneasy. "Where is Joseph?"

"It'll be a cold day in hell before I tell _you_ that," Frank answered, trying to give Joe as much time as possible to get away. Fenton backhanded him viciously across the face.

A middle-aged woman standing near the cash register shouted and pointed a loaf of bread at him. "Hey! Keep your hands off that boy!" She fumbled in her purse for her cell phone. "I'm calling the police, you can't just abuse a child like that!"

Fenton reached behind his back and pulled a gun out of the waistband of his jeans. He leveled it at her with one hand while he propelled Frank toward the door with the other. When he was only a few feet away from the woman, Fenton squeezed the trigger. "Shut-up, bitch," he snarled, as she flew one way, and the bread flew the other. Blood splattered on Frank, and the woman dropped in a dead heap, a third eye appearing in her forehead. "Get the hell in the car," Fenton growled, stepping over her leg. "No-one tells me what to do. Not some nosy bitch in a grocery store, and certainly not _you_."

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Don glared at the glass door, not quite sure what to do. With his one phone call, he had called Colby, telling him to get all the evidence they had against Fenton down to LAPD as soon as possible. Then, he had demanded an attorney and refused to say another word to anyone. He was stalling for time. The detectives had tried anyway, and even brough out their sorry rendition of "Good Cop/Bad Cop", but they had finally left him stewing alone in an interrogation room,

Not exactly a stranger to such places, Don still found it a little disconcerting to be the one being interrogated. Suspected. Whatever. He was _freaking handcuffed_, for Pete's sake, and this was all kinds of insane.

_Why did you lie, Frank_? Don's mind screamed. He concentrated on maintaining his level of anger at the oldest Hardy brother. He tried to tell himself how unfair it was of Frank to lie about him after all the Eppes family had done for him and Joe. He rattled at the handcuffs and tried to use the pain to keep himself from understanding – but it didn't really work. In the end, he knew Frank had done it to protect Joe. He'd seen Fenton's threat with his own eyes. In his soul, he felt badly for the kid, and he knew why Frank had done it. Because if it ever came down to it, Don would do the same thing for Charlie.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jeff paced the basement. He was waiting for a call from Fenton, and Charlie was asleep., or passed out, or some damn thing. He sighed. He was bored and miserable, and worried that the whole thing was falling apart, and it was all Charlie's fault. Originally, Jeff thought he should grab Frank and Joe so it wouldn't look suspicious, but Fenton had insisted on going there himself. He wanted to know how many people Charlie and Frank had told their stories to, so they could be taken out before the big campaign began.

Jeff stood over Charlie, who was lying in a protective ball, cradling his broken arm. Grinning slightly, he raised his boot, took careful aim, and delivered a solid kick that dislodged the wounded limb from its relative safety and sent it hurtling toward Charlie's head. Charlie cried out and tried to scramble away before he was even awake, and it was a bonus when he hit himself in the head with his own broken arm.

Jeff laughed.. "Good morning," he said. Feel like talking, yet?"

Charlie whimpered, pushing with his feet to scoot himself further back against the wall. His eyes teared with pain as he again gingerly took hold of his injured arm with his good hand. He looked away from Jeff, refusing to acknowledge him.

This, of course, only served to make Jeff angrier.

He squatted in front of Charlie and grabbed a fistful of curly hair. He slammed Charlie's head against the bricks behind him for punctuation. "Tell," Slam. "Me." Slam. "Who." Slam. "The," Slam. "Hell." Slam. "Knows."

Just before he passed out again, Charlie had a flash of memory; of another, much-smaller head being slammed against this wall. His eyes widened in horror. "Oh, my God," he whispered. "You killed her. You killed Jessica."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Fenton drove to the house in technicolor anger. When they had gotten outside the building, he had ordered Frank to lay down on the backseat. He didn't care if anyone saw them; he was planning on killing the worthless bitch anyway – _once_ he had Joe. He wanted to find Joe and kill Joe in front of Frank, then suffocate and torture Frank so that he would die a painful death. He wanted them to suffer. He could easily pawn the killing off on one of his men.

Now that he had helped the little whelp escape, Frank didn't seem too lively, too concerned with escape. In fact, he was almost docile, dejected and silent in the back seat. Still, Fenton spent more time keeping an eye on him in the rear view mirror than he did watching the road. Little asshole already fooled him once.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The nest time Charlie woke up, disturbed by his own moans, Frank was leaning against the basement wall next to him. Charlie blinked up at him, trying to sharpen his focus. Between the pounding of his head and the throbbing in his arm, though, he knew he wasn't going anywhere. He didn't even try to sit up. "Fr-Frank?", he rasped, quietly. "Where's Joe?" He had a sudden thought and it was enough to make him lift his head, slightly. His voice shook when he spoke again. "Don? Oh, God, what did they do do Don?

Frank's duct-taped hands were wrapped around his knees. He wished he could help Charlie. He wished none of this had ever happened, to any of them. He swallowed, miserable. "Joe got away. I don't know where he is. Fenton…Fenton had Don arrested." He looked away from Charlie, ashamed.

Charlie moved a little more beside him, hissing as he pushed himself up into a sitting position against the wall. "What? How? For what?"

Frank's stomach clenched in fear, and he still wouldn't look at Charlie. "I had to do it. He was going to kill Joe. He showed up at Don's apartment with a cop, and said th at Don had kidnapped us. I knew if I didn't back up his story, he'd get to Joe somehow, and kill him." He snuck a look at Charlie, who now sat pale and open-mouthed beside him. "I had to," he whispered, tears threatening the back of his eyes. "I had to. For Joe."

Charlie, who had only been sitting up a few seconds, began to slump in the other direction, away from Frank. "How could you?", he mumbled, falling awkwardly onto his broken arm and stifling a cry. "Oh, Frank…how could you…" Charlie curled up into his ball again, his shoulders shaking, and Frank could hear the sobs tear from his throat.

Tears streamed down his own face as he looked toward the stairs, again.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Two hours later_

Colby stormed down the sidewalk toward the front entrance of LAPD, livid. Oswald, Megan and David were barely keeping up with him. He shifted some file folders in his hand. "I just can't believe that kid lied," he repeated. "All the Eppes have done for him, and us letting him hang out at the office all week…dammit, Oswald, I thought you were a better judge of character than this! Frank Hardy is nothing but a sniveling little sunuvabitch who…"

Before Oswald could defend himself, a blond teenage boy exploded out of the shrubbery alongside the walk and threw himself at Colby, knocking files all over the cement. "Frank is not a son of a bitch," he screamed, pummeling at the huge agent's chest with his fists. "My mother IS NOT A BITCH! You take that back!"

Megan reached a hand toward her service weapon while David pulled the kid off of Colby. "Who are you?", she demanded, fingers itching.

Oswald took a step forward, afraid that he was about to see some teenager's brains spread all over the sidewalk. "Joe? Are you Joe? Frank's brother?" Oswald wasn't sure, but this could be the kid in the picture Frank had showed him the other day from his wallet, when he had finally started spilling everything.

Megan glanced at him sharply and David relaxed his hold a little. The blond nodded quickly, and a tone of begging entered his voice as he looked at Colby. "You don't understand," he explained. "You don't get it. Frank had to lie," he said, "I'll bet if he hadn't have said what my Dad wanted, Don would be dead, now! Not to mention Frank, and me…maybe even the cop!"

Colby exchanged a look with David, then bent to scoop the files off the sidewalk. "Come on," he finally said lowly when he straightened up again. His eyes were roving the area around the building. "Let's get inside, where it's safer. Then you're gonna talk."

END Chapter 11


	12. Long Way Down

Chapter 12 

Charlie was asleep when Jeff came down to the basement again. At least, Frank hoped he was just sleeping; maybe the professor was unconscious, again. Frank was afraid to move, talk, or do anything. He watched Jeff's approach warily, soon spying a second set of legs on the stairs. Before he could quite register what was happening, Jeff was leaning against the staircase railing, laughing quietly, and the second individual had passed him, and stood leering down at the two hostages.

"Hello, Frank," the man said coldly. "Remember me?"

Frank's mouth dropped open in shock. Jason. The guard who had befriended him the first time he was kidnapped, the one Frank had witnessed being killed in cold blood. What the hell was happening? Frank tried to speak, but no sound came out of his mouth. Without even realizing he was doing it, he started poking Charlie in the ribs. Apparently, the stress had finally gotten to him, and he had lost his mind.

Jason chuckled at his dismay, and kicked almost casually at him. "You know," he shared, almost conversationally, "Benny always did say you were worthless." His mouth twisted in an ugly grimace. "Except, of course, for some things. The occasional entertainment option for a bored soldier. He never did like you."

Frank still couldn't speak, but managed to exhale a snort. _No shit_, he thought, poking Charlie a little harder.

Jason crossed his arms over his chest and kept talking. "You may have noticed," he said, "that I'm not really dead. I, in fact, am quite alive and well." He stopped, smirking. Frank's eyes flickered to Jeff, who was watching with such rapt interest he was actually drooling. In a flash, Frank understood what was about to happen, and he tried to back right through the wall he had been leaning against. One word finally tore from his throat. "No!"

Jason leaned over, reaching for him. "Aww, come on," he said, grabbing Frank by his shirt collar, "you and I never got to have any fun – and you come highly recommended."

Frank protested again, shoving into Charlie, who finally woke up. His head lolled in confused, thick panic as he saw the stranger with his hands on Frank. Feebly, he tried to push himself up. "Wha? Fr….Fra…."

Frank was not even aware of making a decision. He knew only that Charlie was hurt, that it was all his fault, and that it didn't matter any more what they did to him, anyway. "Charlie," he urged, "stay down. No matter what they do to me. Just stay down." He would have said more, but found it difficult to go on when Jason's hand clamped over his mouth. Frank didn't struggle against the arm that was suddenly crooked around his neck; he just let his body go limp and stared woefully at Charlie.

Having been waiting for some kind of cue, Jeff pushed himself off the railing and walked slowly toward the group. The glint of a knife blade flickered in the dank basement. "So, Doc," he said to Charlie, carefully twirling the knife until he was close enough to lean into Charlie's flushed face. "You feel like talking, yet, or do you want to watch me gut the kid, first?"

…………………………………………

Two-and-a-half hours after accosting Colby on the sidewalk, Joe had outlined practically half his life to the LAPD, details no one in the room ever wanted to hear from another child. The FBI agents also provided a transcript of Charlie's confession from the day before – Oswald had helped them get all the details on paper. After they shared what they had been able to come up with in the few hours since then, even LAPD was convinced. Don was released from custody, and the group headed back for the Bureau, Joe safely sandwiched in the middle of the group.

The youngest Hardy kept trying to apologize to Don, but almost five hours of being a kidnapping suspect were not sitting well with the agent. "Yeah, yeah, knock it off already," he finally said, gruffly, as the group approached the Bureau SUV. He reached out and grabbed Colby's shoulder. "I've got to talk to Charlie. I wish we could leave him out of this one, but we have to get this maniac and his organization off the street as soon as possible. Let me borrow your cell, I'm calling him in."

At the SUV now, Colby exchanged a look with Megan and then met Don's eyes. "Look, boss, we've been trying to call him for hours. Your Dad's been calling us, too – we set him up in a safe house."

Don paled and staggered, a little. "What? A safe house? Why would you put my Dad in a safe house? Where the hell is Charlie?"

Colby sighed, and David took over the report. "Alan was sent on a wild goose chase to the hospital, and when he got back to the house, Charlie was gone."

…………………………………………

Jeff glared at Charlie. They'd given Charlie a few minutes to pull himself together and force his eyes to focus again, but he still hadn't volunteered any information. He nodded slightly at Jason. It was time to begin.

Frank tried to struggle, but the man's arms gripped him firmly. He felt sick to his stomach. _How could this be happening again?_, he wondered. Jason pushed him to the ground and held him down, kneeling beside him and looking at Charlie. "So, Doc," he offered, "One last chance. We've been very patient with you. Are you sure you don't have anything to say? You just gonna lie there and watch me have some fun with the kid?" His eyes suddenly sparked in interest and Jason tilted his head. "Or maybe you wanna play, too. Is that it?"

Charlie's eyes flickered from Jeff to Jason to Frank, but he wasn't really seeing any of them. Ever since he had remembered Jeff killing Jessica here in this basement all those years ago, he couldn't pull himself out of the memories. He remembered getting away from the men during their initial panic, and scurrying behind the staircase. He remembered watching through the backless steps as Fenton and Jeff had decided to use the tools they had, and pulled off part of the sheetrock, stuffing her little body inside. After they had killed her, it sunk in with Fenton what he had done, and he refused to let Jeff kill Charlie, because he knew he could make Charlie be quiet.

Charlie didn't even hear Frank's gasp of pain as Jason pressed his knife down on Frank's arm, and dragged it across his skin. All he could hear were Jessica's screams, and his own whimpers.

Jeff was watching Charlie, and could see that the man wasn't really with them. They were wasting some perfectly good torture, here. "CHARLIE!", he yelled suddenly, delivering a solid kick to the mathematician's ribs. "Snap out of it! PAY SOME ATTENTION, ALREADY!" Physical pain served to break the physic connection, and Charlie groaned, tightening his arms around his midsection. He blinked rapidly as if someone had just turned the lights on. Jeff smiled in satisfaction. "Good. Jason, you may have to provide some more persuasion."

Jason shrugged and took his blade to Frank's other arm. Frank and Charlie both cried out — Frank from pain, Charlie from shock. As he registered he blood dripping off both of Frank's arms, he scrambled silently, trying to force himself up to reach him.

"Bring back memories, does it, Doc?" Jeff chuckled, pushing him back into the wall easily with his boot. "You have one more chance to talk before I let Jason have fun with the kid."

Charlie continued his struggle. "I didn't tell," he gasped, pushing weakly with his uninjured arm at Jeff's boot. "I couldn't re…."

Frank spoke loudly, interrupting. "NO! Charlie, you know that's not the truth! You gave Jeff up and you know it!" Jeff rewarded him with a slap, and he winced. It was a shot in the dark, a totally blatant lie, but Frank was desperate to buy Joe as much time as he could. The longer these two goons were convinced Charlie had something to tell them, and the longer they spent in the basement, the better chance Joe had to get them help.

-------------------------------------------------

A/N: Before anyone accuses Frank again, he's trying to protect Charlie and Joe at the same time and having a hard time of it.

Thanks to FraidyCat for her splendid help with this chapter.

Thanks for your splendid reviews.

Jason out.


	13. How Far Would You Have Gotten

A/N: FraidyCat and I are working smoothly to get you the updates as soon as possible. That doesn't mean we don't like reviews! Thanks to everyone who reviewed so much, I'm trying to get to _all_ of them. Honest.

DISCLAIMER: The chapter title isn't mine, either.

Chapter 12

Alan glared at Don. "I really think a bodyguard and a safe house is unnecessary," he snapped. "He's not going to come after me, too, whoever this guy is, and besides, I want to work on the case!"

"I'm trying to find Charlie, Dad," Don snapped back, exhausted. "We're putting you in a safe house so I don't have to worry about you, too. Joe is staying here as well, and we're flying up Laura and Gertrude. I really want to see how much they know, but if they are on the up-and-up, which it sounds like they are, they're gonna be in the safe house, too."

Joe's face lit up. "You're gonna bring my mom up here?" He asked with a smile.

Don sighed, and then said, "Look, I gotta get back to the office. I gotta find Charlie, and I gotta find Frank."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

When Charlie regained consciousness again, Frank was staring at the barren wall, unblinking. Charlie had a pretty good idea of what just happened, but what confused him was Frank was showered and changed.

"Frank?" He asked hesitantly, trying to push himself up into a sitting position again.

Frank continued to stare at the wall for a few seconds before he sighed and met Charlie's eyes. "I'm alive," he muttered. "I guess that's important."

Charlie's blood ran cold and he swallowed. "Your clothes…", he began, but he bit the words off. Frank reddened and turned his attention back to the wall. "Jason…Jason made me…well, freshen up, before." A burst of laughter escaped him, startling Charlie more than anything else. "I guess he didn't want someone with blood on him…." He looked as if he was thinking about saying more, but he didn't. Now that he knew Jason was using his friendship all along, Frank found it impossible to trust anyone, anymore. Not even Charlie.

Charlie noticed that Frank's arms had been wrapped up in bandages, and they'd stopped the bleeding. "Why do we want them to know we gave them up?" Charlie whispered closely.

Frank looked at Charlie again, his eyes pleading. "Whatever you do, don't… don't let them know the truth. We have to stall for time," he begged. "They'll kill us all – Don, and Joe, too." Before Charlie had a chance to answer, he and Frank both froze at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don looked at Colby. "You're joking, right? They never found any proof linking Fenton to Jessica's disappearance. Everyone said she ran away."

"It says here that the Pasadena detective working the case always suspected foul play – maybe even murder – but he never got enough evidence to convince a judge to give him a warrant. Did Frank tell you Jeff's house was sold?"

"SOLD?" Don demanded, grabbing Colby's papers. "What the hell…"

"He sold it to Fenton," Colby said. "Of course they'll claim ignorance, but at least it proves they knew each other, even if they are supposedly just 'vague acquaintances.'"

"We need more than that," Don said. "Have we gotten Fenton's credit card records yet?"

"Megan and Larry are going through 'em now."

"Tell 'em faster," Don shouted, racing down the hall to talk to David.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jeff glared at Charlie. Frank stared at the wall, unmoving, again. He refused to look at Jason or Jeff. "You'd better talk this time, you miserable little punk," he snapped. "Otherwise I might just get really, really pissed off. And you don't want to see me pissed off." A slow smile played across his face. "Oh, that's right – you already did, once."

Charlie clamped his mouth shut, remembering what Frank had said about killing Don. Jeff grew angry, and after a minute, he grabbed Frank and shoved him into the wall, nearly sending Charlie into another flashback.

"Stop!" Charlie shouted. "Don't hurt him or I won't tell you anything." 

Frank swallowed hard, not wanting Charlie to give Don and Joe up on his account. He wasn't worth it, not anymore. Not since back in the warehouse, the first time he was kidnapped.

Jeff turned towards Charlie, relaxing his grip on Frank and letting him slump back against the wall. "Okay, so, tell." He had a victorious smile on his face that sickened him more than anything.

"No!" Frank said suddenly, pushing against the wall in a desperate lunge toward Jeff. Before he made contact, though, there was a loud crash at the top of the stairs.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alan glared at his bodyguard. "I have to go back to my house and get some more clothes, and feed the koi. It's only a few miles from here, I'll call a cab. It will only take a few minutes. You can stay here with Joe."

The Agent shook his head. "No offense, Mr. Eppes, but your son is a senior Agent. If he says to stay on you, I'm staying on you. I figure it beats working at McDonald's. Just make me a list and I'll call it in; my relief can stop by your place on the way here."

The two men stood at an impasse in the safe house kitchen. Joe, silent and wide-eyed, sat at the table blinking at them, an untouched soda before him. Alan's eyes flickered toward him and then passed over his head to the counter behind him, and the stove next to it. He couldn't believe what he was about to do, but he saw no other way. Ever since the trip to the safe house, when they had passed Jessica Cartman's old home, a niggling fear had settled in his mind, and it was becoming stronger. He had to act upon it. He was a father, and Charlie was in trouble. "Fine," he groused, stomping toward the stove. He took a pen from his pocket, along with a scrap of paper. Leaning over the counter, he began to scribble. After just a few words, he began to shake the pen angrily, and muttered. "Damn thing's out of ink."

"Here," the FBI Agent said helpfully, eager to make amends with the distraught man. He needed to stay on his boss's good side. Besides that, he genuinely liked the old guy. He reached into his own pocket and extricated his pen, stepping up behind Alan.

Alan could hardly believe it himself when he swung around, frying pan gripped firmly in his hand, and bashed the Agent firmly in the head.

He dropped to the floor without a sound. Alan stared at him worriedly for a few seconds, bent over and quickly searched the Agent's pockets, coming up triumphantly with a set of keys. He glanced at Joe, whose eyes had nearly exited his head by this time. Alan headed for the closest way out. "Take care of him," he barked. At the door, he forced himself to turn around and be more specific. "By that I mean use his own cuffs on him. Then get to the basement, and stay there until I come back for you. It's a safe house, right?" Alan smiled shakily. "So the basement must be safe."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don looked at Colby. "I want a search warrant for the Henderson – or Hardy, or whatever the hell -- house, ASAP. I think he might be hiding Frank and Charlie there."

"Do you really think he'd be that stupid?" Colby asked. "Besides, we don't have any more evidence than that Pasadena detective had 20 years ago – we'll never get a warrant."

Don crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him angrily. "Not as long as you stand there like an idiot and don't even try," he snapped, and Colby slunk from the room with his tail between his legs.


	14. If I Hadn't Called You Back

**Chapter 13: ****If I Hadn't Called You Back**

_**A/N: **For those of you who don't get the chapter title –there's a book called, "How Far Would You Have Gotten – If I Hadn't Called You Back?"  
Check it out._

_And what was that other thing?_

_Oh, yeah._

_Review._

_Thx, _

_Jason_

----------------------------------------------

Alan didn't plan on breaking into the house. FBI Agents weren't accidents, after all – Don had such respect for the law because Alan and Margaret had raised him that way. He simply wanted to look around. He was disconcerted, though, when he recognized an old red car parked at the curb not far from the house. Alan remembered helping Fenton look at the car years ago. His old friend had said that he wanted something to drive on his trips to the area, and one of Alan's coworkers had been selling a vehicle. Fenton had snapped it up, rented a space in a long-term parking garage, and that was it, as far as Alan was concerned. He eased his own 'borrowed' car to the curb almost half a block away, his heart pounding. He had commented on the car just last night, mentioning how well it had held up over the years when Fenton had arrived in his driveway. What was Fenton Hardy doing down here at the old Henderson house?

Alan cut across the lawn, as silently as possible, and tried the front door first. Not that he was stupid enough to knock – he just twisted a strangely new doorknob on the supposedly abandoned house, and found it locked. His hand, slightly sweaty by now, slipped off the knob and he wiped it nervously on his jeans. He looked around, and from his vantage point on the stoop could just barely see a low-to-the-ground window peeking out from behind an overgrown shrub. He decided to check the basement for signs of life, and crept to the window. He shimmied carefully behind the bush and leaned over slightly, wiping as quietly as he could at the dirt and grime on the window.

His eyes widened in shock to see two people seated on the floor, two more people standing over them. One of the heads on the floor was decidedly curly, and he knew that it was Charlie.

It was all Alan could do to keep himself from breaking through the window. He knew noise would alert the men to his presence, and he also knew that he had to get into that house. Oblivious to the scratches of the overgrown shrub against his skin, Alan popped back out, cursing himself as he ran for the back for not thinking to steal the Agent's cell phone while he was at it. He could use some back-up about now – but he'd be damned if he would leave Charlie in that basement long enough to go summon Don.

Reaching the kitchen door, Alan made a decision. He didn't know if there was anyone else in the house besides the two men he had seen in the basement, but sometimes, a father had to take a risk. Thank God the top half of the door consisted of a design of small glass panes. After looking through one and determining the kitchen, at least, was empty, Alan leaned over slightly and took off his shoe. Grasping it firmly by the toe, he slammed the heel through the window closest to the lock. The glass was old, and weathered, and it shattered easily into the kitchen. Nearly panicked, now, he jammed his hand through the resulting gap, hissing a little as a shard of glass dug into his forearm, and fumbled for the lock on the knob.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

David looked at Don. "You're crazy, right? I mean, they're not going to put them in the same house… I mean come on, Fenton Hardy is the owner of record, why would he put them there?"

Don sighed, running his hand through his short-cropped hair. "Fenton Hardy is the one who is crazy. He's been so powerful for so long, getting away with so much, he's just stupid enough to do it – he thinks he's indestructible." He snorted. "Plus, he has this weird sense of karma, or something. I saw the way he looked at his kids this morning. He doesn't just want them dead. He wants them to suffer." Abruptly, Don changed the subject. "What did you get off the credit card receipts?"

"Nothing unusual that you wouldn't expect – except one from not long after you were arrested. He used his card to buy gas at an A&P near Highway 101. That in and of itself isn't all that hinky, but two minutes later 9-1-1 got a call from a passerby who heard gunshots. LAPD responded and is on the scene now – they found a murder vic, if the bullet hole in her forehead is any indication. No details yet on who she is."

Don glared at him incredulously. "And you're standing here talking to me? Take Megan and get to the scene."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jeff's tirade had been interrupted by the distinct shattering of glass. He and Fenton stared at each other, then looked toward the stairs.

Unknowingly, they drifted a little closer to each other as noises from a scuffle reached their ears. Jeff took a half-step, intending to investigate, but the door leading into the kitchen at the top of the stairs suddenly burst open and Alan Eppes hurtled down, head over heels, Jason standing behind him. "Look what the cat drug in," he taunted.

Charlie recognized his father, and even though he didn't know why he was there, he knew it was bad. He tried to crawl over to him where he lay at Fenton's feet. "Dad! Oh, God, Dad!" Charlie was still having trouble making his brain work right, and all he could focus on was his father's sock-clad foot. "My Dad needs a shoe…"

Not even looking behind him, Fenton kicked out backwards with one of his feet, like a startled horse. He connected solidly with Charlie's chest and slammed him back into the wall. The mathematician was unconscious again before he even hit.

Breathing ragged, Fenton ignored his son and the pain in the ass doctor and regarded the lump at his feet. "Hello, Alan," he said, chest heaving. "What a shame to see you here. I guess now you'll find out how I spend my spare time."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Megan stared, unbelieving, at the belligerent LAPD detective. "Your vic took at .38 to the brain, her blood is spattered on the store manager, who claims he has no idea what happened, and you're trying to convince us you believe him?"

The police officer growled defensively and superiorly. "We believe she saw something she wasn't supposed to see. The sign on the door is turned to 'closed,' and yet, the store supposed to be opened. The poor guy is probably terrified. Maybe he saw the same thing and is afraid that he'll be next. He's in back with my partner, handing over the security tapes now."

"We'll need to see those," David said.

The detective crossed his arms over his chest. "Exactly why are you guys here, anyway? LAPD did not request FBI involvement in this case. If you have a suspect, don't give me the run-around just because of that little incident with that other agent this morning."

Megan actually lunged at him, and David reached out to grab her. "'Little incident'?", she yelled. "Are you referring to the false arrest of a federal agent?"

The detective's eyes narrowed and flickered back-and-forth between Megan and David. "This is related somehow, isn't it? Why the hell else would you show up at a random murder on the outskirts of L.A.? It's not like we don't have several hundred of those a year for you to choose from."

David looked at him steadily and did his best imitation of Don Eppes in the box with a suspect. "If you don't hand over the tapes now," he promised, "I'm going to let go of Agent Reeves and turn my back."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan shook his head, stunned, and tried to push himself up. "What's going on?", he asked, stupidly, fighting his own bought with unconsciousness since his unceremonious trip down the stairs. "Frank? Why are you here? What happened to Charlie? Let me at my son, you crazy sunuvabitch!"

Fenton laughed at his consternation.

"One question at a time old friend," he started. "Although I guess it doesn't really count, since it all comes down to the same answer. These men have worked for me for years — and both of our sons know too much. Charlie had the misfortune of remembering how he got that broken arm 20 years ago, and Frank… well, Frank just never should have been born."

Jeff suddenly interrupted him. "Look, old man, you can make this easier on everybody. We can do it fast, and painless. Tell us what they've told you, and who else knows!"

Frank chose that moment to moan softly, as if he were just waking up. In reality, he had been watching through slits in his eyes, and listening, ever since Alan tumbled down the stairs. Now, he was trying to divert attention from Alan. Frank didn't know if Charlie or Don had told him anything, but he wasn't about to risk Joe's life on finding out now. "I'll talk," he whispered hoarsely, "but only if you let the two of them go." He even managed a glare at Jeff. "You should know by now that Charlie can keep a secret."

----------------------------------------------A/N: Will he let them go? Or will he not?

The suspense is building….

Review!

Thanks to FraidyCat for betain'! This story wouldn't be possible without her.


	15. Dispatch, we need a SWAT unit

Chapter 15 

David and Megan had eventually gotten the tapes. The manager, who had become extremely nervous with the appearance of the FBI, was oddly absent on the video. What kind of manager made sure he was always out of camera range? The man had also completely clammed up, after demanding they either arrest him or let him call an attorney. It rankled the agents that they had nothing concrete on him that would lead to his arrest. He could be held at least a few hours as a material witness, however. Before Megan and David left the crime scene for LAPD to clean up, they made sure that was going to happen. They both sensed this guy was in it up to his ears, and they didn't want him to bolt before they could prove it.

Back at the Bureau, they stuck the video in the machine and turned it on. Fast-forwarding through two hours of shoppers, Megan started to loose hope that it contained anything useful at all. After noon, though, the manager made one of his few appearances on camera, flipping the sign on the door to read "Closed". A few minutes later, Fenton Hardy entered.

Megan perked up. "This is interesting," she murmured, leaning forward toward the small television in the manager's office. "Can you zoom in closer?"

A forensics technician narrowed the field so that all they were looking at was Fenton talking to someone just out of camera range – that had to be the camera-shy manager. In the background, a plump redhead was piling items onto a self check-out conveyor belt.

Suddenly, the door opened again. There was movement at the edge of the screen near Fenton. "Pull back out," David ordered, and then whistled when he recognized Frank in the picture. "Is there any sound?"

"Sorry," the tech shrugged. Further explanation was avoided when Fenton Hardy's hand lashed out and he viciously backhanded his own son. Frank flew back a step but didn't buckle. The woman at the check-out had apparently seen, and she started shaking a loaf of bread in Fenton's direction, obviously shouting. Abruptly, she dropped it and began to fumble in her purse.

"What's she…", Megan started, but before the question was finished the woman had snatched a cell phone out of her bag.

Focusing on the enraged woman, the agents almost missed it when Fenton pulled a gun out of the waistband of his jeans. Blood blossomed from a third eye that suddenly appeared in the female's forehead, and the woman dropped like a ton of bricks.

"Oh, God," Megan said, watching Fenton drag Frank back out the door. "That poor kid… that poor lady…."

David grimaced. He had no idea that Fenton could be _this_ cold-blooded. He hadn't been sure exactly how much of Frank's story to believe. Then he smiled, tightly, for Hardy had proven stupid as well; at least for one fatal moment. "It's on tape," he pointed out. "We can take him down, now. We better show this to Don. Fast."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Colby rushed into the bullpen excitedly. "Don! Don, I got the warrants. Turned out I found a judge who served in Afghanistan the same time I did! Seems like he was in a good mood today, too. He said he's never trusted Fenton Hardy, himself… anyway, I got 'em!"

Don grinned. "Megan and David are reviewing the tapes right now. Let's see what they've got and go activate the search warrant," he said.

As if on cue, Megan and David burst out of a small conference room and stormed his desk. "Don!" Megan was breathing hard, and so beyond her usual unflappable persona that Don was a little shocked as he looked at her. "We've got him. Hardy offed the woman himself – it's clear as day on the tape."

David was nodding in agreement behind her, and Don smiled grimly. Finally. A break on the case, and a way to take Fenton Hardy down. More importantly, a way to find Charlie. "Let's go get this asshole," he growled, starting for the elevator. "We'll start by seeing what we can find at the house."

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… 

Frank whimpered as Fenton moved closer. "You said you'd talk of we let them go," his father pointed out. "We let them go. TALK, DAMMIT!" He ended his sentence to a kick at Frank's leg.

Frank bit back a groan, and figured he didn't have anything to lose anymore, anyway. "No. N-no. I wanna see," he said, "I want to see that they're let go."

Fenton kicked him again. "I'm gonna get Jason down here if you won't talk," he said, "and I'm going to look the other way."

Frank cowered and placed his hands on his face, but refused to look anywhere but at the ground.

Fenton glared as he kicked Frank one last time. "Fine," he said, storming up the stairs and slamming the basement door.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Joe glanced at the agent's body on the kitchen floor. He couldn't bring himself to touch the man's cuffs. The thought repulsed him. He swallowed hard as he stared at the cell phone clipped on the man's belt. Before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned over and grabbed it, wondering if he could somehow reach Frank on it. Frank had a cell phone. But he had just gotten it before he left, at their mother's insistence after the kidnapping, and Joe was so frightened and confused, he could not, for the life of him, remember the number.

Understanding on some level that it was a ridiculous notion, he scrolled through the cell's address book as if Frank would be listed there. Joe paused when he recognized Don's name. He pondered. Maybe he should call Don and tell him what Alan had done – but could he really trust him? If he was dirty, he wouldn't be the only law enforcement officer in Fenton's pocket.

Then he remembered that Frank had gone willingly to Don's apartment the night before, and decided that had to mean something. He was sure he could trust his brother. Nervously, he pushed the button to send the call.

The phone rang once, then twice, then three times before Don picked it up. "Eppes," he barked. "This better be good, Martinez. Is my Dad giving you a hard time?"

"I-it's Joe," Joe said nervously. Frank trusted Don, Joe told himself. Frank trusted him. "I th-thi…"

"Joe! Why are you calling me?" Don asked, hanging on to the passenger panic strap as David careened around a corner en route to the house. "Where's Martinez?" His voice escalated in fear. "Is something wrong?"

"M- Mr. Martinez… oh my god, Don… the agent's not waking up and he h-asn't for like, like, two hours," Joe wailed, not really sure how long it had been.

"What happened?" Don asked. Had Fenton come back? No, that wouldn't make any sense, because then Joe… "Joe, where's my dad?"

"He knocked the agent out," Joe said, crying now into the phone. "I think he's a part of Fenton's organization. He said he was going to go to the house and rescue Charlie. He must be part of it if he knows why my Dad keeps that house…."

"What the hell?", sputtered Don. "You're talking crazy, Joe. If my father was in on it, why would Charlie be missing in the first place? He must have had some other reason for going to the house. Father's intuition or something."

"No," Joe sobbed, "that's how they talk. If he's going to 'rescue' Charlie, that means he's going to kill him. That's what my dad said about Frank!" He sniffed. "What is father's intuition?", he asked, belatedly.

Don sighed and tried to put everything together. Knowing what he did about Fenton Hardy now, it was no wonder the poor kid didn't know. "Fathers are supposed to love you, Joe. Now calm down, and explain to me what you just said. You heard your father threaten to 'rescue' Frank?"

Joe sniffed again, considering the revelation about love. "Y- yes. Yeah. I overheard him on the phone in the car, on our way here. He thought I was sleeping. He was talking to that Uncle Jeff. He told him to grab Frank and take him to the house, and that he would meet him there later. He laughed, and said it was only right that Frank be 'rescued' from his sorry life by dying in the same place Jessica had. Who's Jessica?", he added, genuinely confused.

Don snapped. "Why the hell didn't you tell someone this? Me? Or at least warn your brother!"

"I…I th-thought I was dreaming," Joe whined. "Besides, no-one ever believes us…but when I heard Mr. Eppes say 'rescue', it all flashed back. God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Joe was crying in earnest now, and his next words couldn't even be understood, although Don thought he recognized a "Frank" in there somewhere.

Don leaned back against the seat and groaned. "Dammit, Joe," he muttered. "Look, my dad's not a part of this organization, okay? Don't worry about that. And we're on our way to the Henderson house now." He had a sudden idea. "You remember Oswald, right? Frank's new friend? I'll call him and send him to the house to stay with you. I'm sending another agent, and an ambulance for Martinez, too. If Oswald gets there first, you guys just wait until I contact you again. All right?"

Joe nodded, then remembering Don couldn't see him nodding in the telephone, he whispered miserably. "Yeah."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

When Don flipped the cell shut he looked over at David, who had been sneaking him glances during the conversation. "Something's going on at the Henderson house, and my Dad just put himself in the middle of it. Joe says Hardy and Henderson are there, with Frank. Maybe Charlie, too."

David looked back at the road while reaching for the vehicle's police radio. "Dispatch," he yelled into it as he pressed the accelerator closer to the floor, "we need a SWAT unit."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

End, Chapter 15

_A/N: I'm seriously thinking of moving this story to "co-authored" with FraidyCat. You guys would not believe the amount of time she puts into helping me. So review and say "thank you…", or something, because this story would __**not**__ exist without her help.  
_

_Thnx for reading_

_Jason_


	16. Torpedos, anyone?

**Chapter 16**

Disclaimer: Three whole paragraphs….

"_When the chips are down, save your own ass."- FraidyCat _

_---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Frank whimpered when he heard Jason's footsteps on the stairs. He wasn't emotionally prepared to take any more beatings or torture. But there was no way, no way in hell, that he was going to give up Don, Charlie or Alan, or anyone at the FBI. They'd done so much for him, even though he didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve it at all.

He recognized the sound of the metal boots. When he had been previously captured, they always meant relief, until the night Jason was "murdered". Frank hadn't been able to sleep that night and had spent the night crying silently, wondering who was going to rescue him from the current hell he was in.

The next time he had seen Jason again, it had been one of the biggest shocks of his life. Besides finding out that his father was in charge of a massively led drug operation, it probably _was_ the biggest shock of his life.

The boots finally clanked their way down the stairs to where Frank was sitting. Jason stared down at him, knife in hand. "Well," he drawled in a fake southern accent, laughing as he lightly traced his knife up and down Frank's face, "Are we ready to begin?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don had the cell phone open while still holding the panic loop and was hitting the speed dial for Oswald one-handed. He was relieved when Oswald picked up. At least he hoped it was Oswald. "Batter-up," sing-songed Kittner's voice.

"Oswald, knock it off," Don gritted out between his teeth. He was in no mood to be messed with. "Look, we've got major problems. My dad just threw himself into the case. I need you to go to the safe house and find Joe and stay with him, all right? I'm sending an ambulance there for Martinez as well. Apparently my Dad hit his light switch, somehow."

There was a slight pause as Oswald processed that information. He was surprisingly fast at it, and matter-of-fact when he spoke next. "I don't have any way to get to the safe house," he said. "My car is back at Colby's place. Besides, I don't know where the place is. I think that's why they call it a 'safe house'."

Don cursed himself and growled at Oswald at the same time. He made a quick decision. It was damn-the-torpedos time. "Take my SUV out of the parking garage. There's a spare set of keys in the second drawer of my desk. Which I am moving as soon as this is over," he added as an afterthought.

"Cool," Oswald responded, unperturbed. "Can I play with the whole siren thing?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

LAPD's SWAT team arrived at the house a few minutes before them and had already taken their positions. Sharpshooters had a clear view of Charlie through the kitchen window. He was kneeling on the floor, in an execution position, Jeff Henderson standing over him with a gun. There was no sign of Alan, Fenton or Frank Hardy, or anyone else. Don felt his blood run cold as he lifted binoculars and trained them on Charlie. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. No time for finesse. The asshole was about to blow his brother away.

He literally dropped the binoculars where he stood and addressed the team gathered around him. "We've got to move," he urged. "Units came in silent, so he doesn't know we're here. Colby, you and I take the back. Megan and David, you have the front. Watch your backs – we don't know if anyone else is in there."

As the agents began to move, they passed an LAPD detective's car and heard the radio squawk, the dispatcher calling all available units to an officer-involved shooting less than a mile away. Almost immediately, the noise of approaching sirens split the air as patrol cars responded, and Don gave up all pretense of a secure approach. "GO!", he shouted, taking off in a dead run, terrified that the sirens would push Henderson over the edge. "GO! GO! GO!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jason was thoroughly enjoying threatening Frank again when the sound of sirens filtered into the basement. "Holy shit," he muttered, suddenly forgetting his fun and sprinting to one of the basement windows. Frantically he palmed the grime away and swore again. At least a dozen police cars, including a huge SWAT van, were barricading the house.

"Son of a bitch," he cried, backing away from the window. He glanced briefly up the stairs, wondering about Fenton, Jeff and the Eppes. He quickly decided he didn't give a damn, and ran back to Frank, who was staring at him with huge eyes. Wrapping one arm around his neck, Jason began to drag Frank, who was too surprised and weak to struggle, into the small alcove under the staircase. He knew they would be out of sight, there.

He crouched behind Frank, still firmly squeezing his arm into the boy's trachea. Frank was starting to get light-headed, gasping for air. "You're really in it deep now, boy," hissed Jason. "Cops all over the damn place." He leaned over and whispered in Frank's ear. "It's because of that FBI agent's family. I told Fenton he was asking for trouble on that one. They're just here to get the old man and his kid back. They don't care about you."

Jason was thinking as he spoke, and as a thought occurred to him, his hold lessened a little. He ruminated aloud as Frank raggedly took in breaths and clutched at the arm still around his neck. "They'll find them all, they're all upstairs. When the agent has his family back, he'll either kill the boss and Jeff or bust 'em." His hold relaxed further, and his arm started to leave Frank's neck. He actually chuckled, chilling Frank's blood more than anything else had. "No-one will look for you. It's you and me, kid. We'll just sit it out and listen to the action. Then we'll have time for a little more of our own."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Colby picked the lock on the back door to the small utility annex so quickly and expertly, Don found himself wondering briefly exactly what he had done in Afghanistan. He crouched over Colby, gun drawn in a covering position while his partner pocketed the picks and got his own service weapon into position. Then, using hand signals, they advanced as quickly and silently as possible the brief distance to the former kitchen, where they knew Charlie was.

There was a suspended, swinging half-door separating the two rooms. As they approached, they could hear Henderson laughing – and then the ominous click of the hammer of a gun falling into firing position.

In a near-panic now, Don silently indicated that Colby should go low, and without waiting to see that he was understood, he blasted through the door. He leveled his weapon at Henderson and shouted. "ONE MORE MOVE AND YOU'RE SPREAD ALL OVER THESE WALLS!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Later, when he had to write the reports and talk to the crime scene reconstruction experts, Don admitted that he did everything wrong. As soon as he had heard that _click_, his FBI-sense was gone, and he was only, totally, a brother. That was an unfortunate error in judgment for which he would never forgive himself. His shout had startled Henderson into discharging his weapon, and had alerted Fenton Hardy in the living room; another few seconds, and Megan and David would have had him, and liberated Alan. As it was, Fenton had drawn his own firearm, crooked his arm over his old friend's neck and dragged him into the kitchen. Nothing short of a firefight ensued while Fenton used Alan as a shield. He had been intending to escape either through the back entrance, or back to the basement, but when he saw all his exits blocked, Hardy reconsidered. In the confusion caused by the hail of gunfire, he backed out of the kitchen, dragging Alan with him, and bolted up a set of rickety stairs, barely escaping injury when Megan and David burst around a corner and joined the quarrel. When it was over, minutes later that seemed like hours, Don looked through the haze and saw both Charlie and Jeff Henderson, lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Still in his position after sliding under the swinging door that separated the utility room and the kitchen, Colby scrambled across the bloody floor on his hands and knees. Megan and David, after a brief sympathetic glance at Don, retraced their steps and cautiously pursued Fenton up the stairs. Don kicked a small handgun out of Henderson's reach and leaned over quickly to check for a pulse. He did not expect to find one – and he was not disappointed. "This one's dead," he growled, dropping to his knees beside Colby and his brother. "Charlie's okay, right? It's all Henderson's blood?"

Colby ripped off his jacket and bunched it into a ball, then used it to apply pressure to Charlie's shoulder. He answered Don without looking at him. "He's hit. Arm's broken, too. There's a lot of blood – looks like something large caliber."

"What?", Don whispered, staring in horror at the scene before him. His eyes were drawn again to the gun he had kicked out of Jeff Henderson's hand. Large caliber? Henderson only had a .22, that wasn't right…. He paled, and gasped as if hit in the gut with a baseball bat, as he hefted the heavy steel of the service weapon he still held.

It was a .357.

"Oh my God," he barely breathed. "Friendly fire…"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

End Chapter 16

_A/N: Oh, wow. I'm sorry this puppy took so long to get up. This chapter, for whatever reason, was hard to write. My beta and I fought over the first copy (which was eventually ditched), but here you go._

_This took over an hour for the both of us – over an hour each -- so hit the pretty purple button and review. _

_Please?_


	17. And I'll Sweeten The Deal, Eppes

**Chapter 17: **

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

David and Megan had shadowed Fenton up the rickety stairs, but had been unable to get a clear shot at him without hitting Alan. When he reached the landing on the second floor, Fenton laughed cruelly in his old friend's ear. "Not doing you a hell of a lot of good having that kid in the FBI now, is it?" He was breathing hard after dragging Alan with him up the stairs. The two men were almost equal in height, and Alan was actually a little heavier. Now, as they paused at the top of the staircase, Alan sensed that it was really so that Fenton could catch his breath. The ordinarily kindly man was overtaken by a sense of rage as he listened to Fenton bad-mouth Don, and pained betrayal as he began to fully comprehend that Fenton had intended to kill his other son, and his own sons as well. Alan looked down the stairs at Megan and David, who still had their guns trained on Fenton, but were unable to shoot. Drawing a deep breath, Alan made a quick decision. He didn't care what the consequences were. He didn't care if he broke his back, or got hit by a stray bullet, or even if he ended up dead himself. Taking Fenton by surprise, he threw his body forward as hard as he could, hurtling himself down the stairs, breaking Fenton's hold on him. Alan bellowed as he tumbled head-over-heels. "NOW, DAVID, NOW!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The ambulance had come and gone for Martinez by the time Oswald reached the house. "Joe! What happened here? Are you okay?" he asked. "What's going on here?" he demanded, more then a little confused by Don's somewhat alarming phone call.

"I don't know," Joe wailed. He had been sitting at the kitchen table again, because he didn't know what else to do, but now he stood up and flailed his arms. "Nobody will tell me anything, except Don insists his father is _not_ in with my father. He just told me to wait here for you, and then for both us to stay put. I don't know, maybe he's in on it, too!"

"Where's Frank?", Oswald asked, looking around. "How did you end up...woah, woah, woah, what did you say? You think Alan's in this with Fenton AND that Don's a bad cop? Geez, dude, take a chill pill -- no way in hell. No. Way. In. Hell."

"That's what Don said," Joe replied. "He said I was… Never mind. Anyway, I…" he paused and forced himself to remember that Frank trusted Oswald. He had to trust someone -- surely not everyone, _everywhere_ was owned by his father. Finally, when it looked as if Oswald was going to say something again, Joe opened his mouth and spilled. "I think they all went to Uncle Jeff's old house. I'm pretty sure Frank -- and maybe Charlie -- were being held there, and I'm scared! Oswald, Dad and his goons are going to kill him!"

Oswald gaped at Joe for a minute and hefted Don's keys in his hand. "That's the house near the Eppes' place, right? It's only five miles from here. Why the hell are we standing around talking?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

As the minutes ticked by and noises filtered down to the basement, Frank prayed silently that someone would remember that there _was_ a basement. _Just_ _please, remember to check_, he pleaded silently and desperately. In the end, he knew that Jason was probably right. He knew that nobody would look for him. Besides, from the sound of the gunfire and the yelling up there, nobody would be left alive, anyway.

Jason startled him out of his thoughts when he clamped a hand over his mouth. "Shut up," Jason hissed. "Someone's coming."

Frank struggled against the hand, but it was no use. He hadn't eaten for nearly two days, and he was too weak to accomplish much. _Great_, he thought. _Please, please let somebody find me..._

Something rammed against the door leading to the basement, and Jason starting pulling Frank towards the stairs, screaming up them as they drew closer.

"Stay back! Don't you dare open that door!", he yelled, nearly tearing Frank's head off his shoulders. "I've got a hostage! I've got a hostage!"

He raised his gun and fired a round through the door, not caring if he hit anyone or not. The ramming stopped, and there was complete silence. "I've got a hostage!", he screamed again, sure he would be heard this time. "I want Eppes. I'll only talk to Agent Eppes."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

After Alan had flung himself down the stairs, both Megan and David had a clear shot at Fenton. Both firing at once, David got him in one leg, while Megan nailed the other. He had thudded to the floor like a sackfull of potatoes.

When the dust settled, Alan was, amazingly, fine. He definitely had some new bruises for his collection, and would no doubt feel his headlong hurtle the next day, but he was up and pawing at Megan before David had finished reading Fenton his rights.  
"Where's Charlie? Is he all right? Frank's here, did you find Frank?"

Megan placed a hand on his arm to settle him down. "Don and Colby are with Charlie…" She glanced at David, then back to Alan. "Did you say Frank is here?"

David, cuffing Fenton to the banister, ignored the man's yells and simply raised his voice over them. "What? I thought LAPD mapped the house before we got here! Where the hell is he?"

Alan tried to push past Megan to get back to the kitchen and both of his sons. "Basement," he answered, distracted. "We were all there, but that goon of Fenton's separated us. He convinced Frank he was letting Charlie and I go, so that Frank would talk…let me at my son, dammit!"

With Fenton secure, Megan and David gave up on restraining Alan, and instead followed him back down the stairs. Don was just coming in the front door of the house, and Alan flew at him. "Don!" he shouted, running to his son and grabbing him in a bear hug. "Where's Charlie? Are you okay? They won't tell me anything."

Don extricated himself from his father's arm and looked at him barely containing his anger. "He's a mess, Dad. He was shot in the kitchen, and his arm is broken…they're loading him in the ambulance now. I was going, and SWAT pulled me back in here." He glared at an officer lingering nearby, fully encased in combat gear and obviously waiting for him. "What the hell is the matter with you? The place is crawling with cops, let me go with my brother!"

"Oh, my God," breathed Alan, looking uncertainly from Don to the front door. He needed to be in two places at once.

Don saw his dilemma and made the decision for him. "Go, Dad. They haven't left yet, and you should get checked out yourself. Go!" Alan gave him one last frantic look, then exploded past him and out the front door. Don watched him leave, then took on the SWAT Commander again. "I asked you what the hell you're doing!"

The officer shifted. He felt for the guy, but you'd never know it from his matter-of-fact report. "Hostage situation, sir. We were going to search the basement when someone fired through the door and threatened to harm a hostage. At this point we cannot verify that there even _is_ a hostage, but the man is demanding to talk to you. _'Eppes'_ – he used your name."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Frank felt the cool basement floor as he pressed closer to the ground, shaking under Jason's gun. The man was keeping a close eye on him and on the stairs, pacing like a caged animal. He tried to glance occasionally toward the windows, but they were difficult to see from his position, and his attention was divided already.

"Dammit," Jason cursed as he paced. "I _told_ Fenton that kid was bad news. You better pray to whatever God you have that they let me talk to Eppes, Frank. Nobody else is going to believe me. I don't know why Don even believed you."

Frank winced at the man's words. Don _hadn't_ believed him – he'd believed Charlie. He was pretty sure Don hated his guts.

Jason squatted down next to Frank, facing the stairs, his back to the windows, while he entered the numbers into his cell and pushed 'send'. When Don answered on the first ring, Jason spit out his deal in a hurry. "I've got the kid. Fenton's kid. Guarantee me safe passage out of here, and I'll sweeten the deal, Eppes." He rubbed his hand over his mouth nervously. "One of your people is a traitor."

------------------------------------------------------

A/N: There is one slight problem with this chapter – it's Jason's phone number. Let's say he has Don's from Fenton's and Don gets his from this phone call. I couldn't make anything else work.

KUDOS TO FRAIDYCAT, THIS CHAPTER WAS A TOUGHIE!

Can you believe I'm almost at 100 reviews? That will be the most of any story I've done so far, and it's all thanks to FraidyCat – and to you guys. So, review please?

Thnx, Jason 


	18. Basement Windows, Anyone?

_ Chapter 18: Guess Who?_

Don stopped cold when he heard Jason's words. "_What_?" he gasped, clutching the cell phone so hard it almost shattered in his hand. "What do you mean, _one of my people is a traitor_? There's no way."

"You think Fenton doesn't own someone everywhere?" Jason demanded. "Why do you think Frank was so scared to talk? He didn't know who he could trust."

"Wait, how the hell do you know all this?" Don demanded, trying to stall. He looked at Megan to see what she thought. She'd been listening over the speakerphone.

"I have my sources. Fenton, mainly. I told him he was stupid, Eppes, kidnapping your family."

"And yet you still helped to hold them hostage," Don spat. "Let me talk to Frank."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Frank took the phone from Jason, hands shaking as Don's voice projected over the speaker. "Frank? Frank! Frank Hardy!"

"I'm okay," Frank finally whispered obediently, still staring up at Jason.

Don huffed out a breath in relief. "Hang in there, Frank. Has he hurt you?"

Before Frank could respond, Jason ripped the cell back out of his hands. "He's fine, Eppes. What do you say to my deal? You guarantee me safe passage -- you get Frank _and_ you find out who's a traitor."

Don remembered the classes he had taken in hostage negotiation at Quantico, and he had seen the techniques work in the field. There was a reason it was called "negotiation". He prepared a counter-offer. Give a little, get a little. "Let me work on that," he answered. "I'll start by clearing the house. All police personnel will leave. Just you and me. But you have to give me something…we both need to show some 'good faith', here. You give me Frank. Let Frank go."

Jason crouched back down next to Frank, and ran a possessive hand over his arm. Frank shivered and tried to draw away even further. "Don't think I'm quite ready to part with him yet," Jason grinned. He winked at Frank, who squeezed his eyes shut in horror, and his voice took on a disdainful tone. "Come on, Eppes. You know you care more about the rat anyway. Hardy planted him in your organization two years ago. Recruited him right out of Quantico. He went in dirty, and he's stayed dirty. You guys are all idiots!"

Don couldn't help himself. "Give him up!", he hissed. "Who is it?"

Jason took on a teasing tone. "I bet he's up there now, picking you guys off one-by-one. Wouldn't be the first time. There were so many bullets up flyin' up there, Eppsie…I don't suppose there were any 'friendly fire' incidents?"

Quantico classes and negotiations were out the window as Don's memory filled with the sight of his brother lying in his own blood. Jason could hear him roaring even without the telephone. "WHO THE HELL SHOT MY BROTHER, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Jason laughed. "You want me to do everything for you, don't you, Eppes? How many graduates you got from the class of '04 up there, anyway?"

Then he flipped the phone shut, killing the connection, and turned his attention back to Frank.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don glared at the telephone in disgust. Jason had just hung up on him, but that wasn't the reason he was angry. He whirled around until his eyes fell on David Sinclair. "Class of '04?", he hissed. "Granger came up in '04!"

David held up both his hands. "Whoa, whoa, Don. This is crazy." He looked over Don's shoulder at Megan, frantically. "Why would he shoot Charlie and then point out that it was friendly fire, and try to save his life?"

Don, breathing hard and trapped in indecision, brought his hand up toward his service weapon in a reflex. Megan surged forward and physically restrained his arm, planting herself between her two partners.

"Don! Think! Maxwell, on Anderson's team. You know he and Colby graduated from Quantico at the same time, and Anderson's team is here!"

Don opened his mouth to say something, but David's aberrant "Shit!" shocked both him and Megan. She turned to look at Sinclair, clearing his line of sight so that Don could gape at him too.

David was already starting for the stairs. "Maxwell is guarding Hardy!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Joe pointed at the house. "Wow, look at all the cop cars," he said as they pulled up. "Hey, look, I think that's even a SWAT van!"

"Never seen so many in my life, if you don't count LAPD or the FBI office," Oswald agreed.

Joe shrugged. "It was a common occurrence at our house. Anytime me or Frank went missing there were dozens there."

Oswald turned to him, his mouth agape. "You mean.. how many times was he missing?"

Joe sighed and glanced at the ground. "Dad always said it came with the territory, because he was so well-known. But since Frank told me that this last couple of times was Dad's organization, I'm beginning to wonder if he was really behind everything, all along." He looked up at Oswald, his gaze a mixture of heartbreak and fear. "Oswald, what are we going to do _now_?"

"Get in the house and rescue your brother," Oswald said.

Joe regarded the dozens of policemen milling around the area. Oswald had been forced to park almost a block away, but as the two drew nearer to the house, they could see yellow "crime scene" tape blocking off the curious. "And how are we gonna do that?", he asked. "Maybe they got him out by now?"

Oswald grinned at him. "Stick with me, kid," he said cockily, marching right up to the tape barrier.

A young LAPD policeman on the other side crossed his arms over his chest. With just two weeks on the job, this was the most exciting thing he'd done yet, and he puffed up with self-importance. "Going to have to ask you to step back, boys. This is a hostage situation."

Oswald brought his hand out from behind him with a flourish, and shoved his FBI visitor's pass under the cop's nose. On the way up the sidewalk, he had carefully positioned his fingers to cover most of the "Visitor" and expose most of the "FBI", and his photo, "I've been called to the scene," he bluffed. "Consultant, for Agent Eppes. He requested that I bring the hostage's brother." Sensing the rookie's hesitation, he roughened his voice and frowned. "You don't want to cross Eppes, let me tell you! Haven't you heard about him?"

The cop glanced nervously around, hoping to find a senior officer to make the decision. He may have only been two weeks on the job, but he had seen this FBI Eppes in action all day, and he had no trouble believing he could be dangerous to a man's career.

As he hesitated, Oswald reached for the phone on his belt. "Okay, I'll call him. It's your funeral, dude."

The rookie paled and hastily lifted the tape barrier. "No! I mean, listen…tell him I was helpful, okay? Patrolman Davis."

Oswald grabbed Joe's elbow and dragged him under the yellow tape. "Sure thing, patrolman." Joe was practically choking by now, and Oswald dragged him several feet beyond Davis. "Calm down!", he ordered, shaking Joe's elbow.

Joe looked up at him, a gleam in his eye. "Frank will love this," he said. "This is something he would have tried to do…before…"

Oswald could see Joe slipping back into his fear and he spoke lowly to him with a confidence he did not truly feel. "Yeah. Well, we'll give him the play-by-play when we get him out." He glanced toward the door. "I don't think we can try to bluff any of these other guys. Gotta avoid normal entrance points. Let's scoot behind the dead bushes and scoot around the back. Mabe we can get in through a basement window."

Joe nodded and silently followed Oswald's lead. Now that someone official had let them across the barrier, no-one else seemed too concerned about their presence on the lawn, and the two boys were soon clinging to the side of the house, edging their way to the back. Each time they encountered a basement window, Oswald would check to see if it was unlocked. It was beginning to look like he was going to have to kick through a pane. Near the back door, there were two windows barely a foot apart. Oswald leaned and checked one, and then the other. He was so startled to discover the second one unlocked, he almost missed it. When he turned to nudge Joe and share his discovery, he found his young friend kneeling on the ground, rubbing at the dirt on the first window and peering through it. "Joe!", he hissed.

Without looking up at him, Joe snaked up a hand and tugged hard on Oswald's jeans. Oswald dropped beside him in the dust. "What?", he whispered.

Joe sat back from the window a little and pointed at it. Oswald was dismayed to see that he was crying. "Frank's in there," he answered miserably.

Stunned, Oswald shoved his own face at the window. Sure enough, he could see Frank lying on the floor at the bottom of a staircase. His face was toward the window, but Oswald couldn't tell if he could see them or not. Standing over him was a guy at least as big as Colby Granger, and he was kicking at Frank. Joe lowered his face back to the window, and the two silently watched as the man leaned over and backhanded Frank across the face. Joe made a sound of distress, and Oswald quickly clapped his hand over the boy's mouth. "Quiet," he instructed, so livid it was difficult to keep his voice down. "This other window is unlocked. We're going in."


	19. Shovels And Jeans

CH 19 – RECOVERY METHOD

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

"You sonofabitch!" Don glared at Maxwell, who was in handcuffs sitting on the floor next to Hardy. "You sneaky, stupid, idiotic little _traitor! _Did you think you could get away with it forever?"

Maxwell smirked. "Well, you people _are_ pretty stupid…"

Don lunged for Maxwell, and it took both Megan and David to restrain him from hitting the double agent. At that moment, his cell phone rang, and Don jerked it off his waistband and flipped it open. "Eppes!". He barked, still glaring at Maxwell.

Jason's angry voice floated over the speakerphone. "I'm still hearing a lot of activity up there, Eppes. I gave you your traitor – you said you'd clear the place! I'm getting impatient. You don't want to know what happens when I get impatient. Isn't that right, Frank?"

Even over the phone, Don could tell he was smirking. "Tell you what – I clear the place when you let Frank go."

"Hell no," Jason said. "That would be too easy for you, Eppes. Besides, a promise is a promise. You want me to sue the Bureau? Just remember, you people don't want to see me impatient." Just before he hung up again, Jason laughed out loud. "And that's a promise."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Frank stared up at Jason glumly, watching him disconnect the phone, and summoning all the defiance he could muster. Taking a risk, he sat up. He had seen the window flip open, and was hoping he hadn't passed out and missed Jason calling in another one of his men to help him "handle" Frank.

"Frank…," Jason said, interrupting his thoughts, "you better pray Don gets me what I want, because it ain't gonna be a pretty day for you if he doesn't." He swore and Frank winced. "This basement gives me the creeps… Be better if a fuckin' dead person wasn't here already."

Frank's mouth dropped open in shock. "Dead person?" he whispered quietly, and Jason crossed his arms over his chest, kicking at Frank again.

"Shut-up", he growled, his gun dangling loosely in one hand. Frank was staring at it, trying to determine how he could find the strength to go after it, when in the background behind Jason he saw a skinny pair of jean-clad legs drop through the window. For a frozen moment, he was sure he had finally gone crazy – there was a patch on the knee of those jeans that reminded him of a pair he had tried to throw out just a few months ago. Joe, having outgrown most of his own clothes, had rescued them from the trash and wore them proudly. He continued to stare in shock as the legs were followed by a tow head in desperate need of a haircut. His eyes widened when he recognized his brother, and he moved quickly to cover up his discovery. The last thing he wanted was Jason turning around and seeing Joe!

He started coughing violently and scooting backwards toward the far corner of the basement. He had seen a shovel leaning there earlier, and now he remembered what Jason had said about someone dead being in there with them. Was somebody buried over there?

Jason lunged toward him, leaning over slightly to grab at him with one hand, waving the gun around with the other. "Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going? "

Frank groaned in legitimate terror when he saw Oswald drop through the window after Joe. What in the world had Oswald talked Joe into doing? He coughed again, making as much noise as he could and leaning away from Jason's hand. "Don't. Please!", he cried, as loudly as he could. "Please don't hurt me anymore!"

To his surprise, Jason pulled his face back out of his and spoke a little nervously. "Maybe I should kill you anyway," he mused. "Before Eppes hears your story. He's pissed off enough as it is…I can't risk him hearing about our little games before I'm safely away…"

"I won-, won- won't tell!", Frank stuttered. He purposely did not move his eyes from Jason's, desperate not to give him any reason to turn around. Still, with his peripheral vision he saw Joe launch himself through the air as if he was Spiderman, or something. Frank screamed in fear so sharply that Jason, startled, reached out his hand again to clamp it over the kid's mouth.

The last thing the goon was expecting was for something to land on his back with a solid _thump_, knocking the gun out of his hand and burying hands in his hair, pulling his head backwards. The gun flew behind the stairs and Jason whirled and tried to reach behind his back, grunting with surprise.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM," shouted Frank and Joe at the same time, as if they had rehearsed. 'DON'T TOUCH MY BROTHER!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jason careened into the nearest wall, fighting desperately to knock Joe off his back. He slammed into the bricks and Joe's hold loosened. Jason growled as yet another body moved in a blur past him, and he tried to grab Oswald while he was still trying to shake Joe off. By this time, Frank had managed to crawl the few feet that separated him from the madman and his brother, and he began to claw at his feet and ankles, putting more force behind his assault than he would have imagined possible. Jason roared and kicked out against the newest impediment, still banging his shoulders into the wall. One of his flying hands finally caught ahold of Joe's shirt, and he fisted the material and dragged, triumphant.

Just before Joe flew off and landed in a heap on top of his brother, Oswald yelled loudly. "Hey!", he called, and Jason automatically turned his head toward the sound. It turned out to be the last thing he heard for a long time, when Oswald buried the old shovel between his eyes.

Joe had seen the mighty Jason falling toward them, and he managed to roll Frank so that they were nearly out of the way. Each boy ended up with one foot under the gunman. Joe tugged at his while he tightened his grip around a speechless Frank. "Nice hit," be breathed, moving one hand to grip his brother's face. "Frank? Frankie? Come on, bro, you're okay. You're okay."

His voice was sounding a little desperate, and Oswald was having some difficulty looking away from the pool of blood forming around Jason's head. Frank suddenly gasped in a huge hit of oxygen and focused on Joe's frantic face. "J- J- Joe," he sobbed, the single syllable echoing heartbreak and fear in the dank basement.

Joe smiled and began to rock his brother slightly. "Yeah. Yeah, Frank. We're good. We're good."

Oswald kicked tentatively at Jason, who didn't make a sound. Then he gingerly stepped over him, glancing down at the Hardys. "Nice to see ya there, Frank," he huffed, snaking a long arm around the stairs and feeling for the gun he had seen go flying earlier. He grunted with the effort of reaching the weapon. "Miss…uhhh…missed you…" Finally, his fingertips hooked the gun, and Oswald was careful not to firmly grip it. He hadn't been hanging around the FBI office all this time and picked up nothing about forensic evidence, and he didn't want to compromise the fingerprints. Carefully he laid it on the basement floor behind Joe, well out of Jason's reach, should he suddenly regain consciousness. "Watch that for me," he instructed the brothers. "I think I'll head on up and get Don."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Oswald was pretty proud of himself as he took the stairs two-at-a-time. He had knocked out the perp, secured the weapon…he was pretty sure he remembered to do all the important stuff. At the top of the stairs, he happily swung open the door leading to the kitchen and thought of one last thing.

As he yelped, "Don't shoot!", and raised his hands in the air, Oswald decided, staring down the barrel of a Bureau shotgun, that he probably should have let Don know he was coming.


	20. Don't Say That It's Over

"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA," yelled Don as soon as he recognized Oswald. "Hold your damn fire, man! EVERYBODY, HOLD YOUR FIRE!" He pushed past the agent who had shocked Kittner down a couple of steps and placed himself at the end of the officer's shotgun. He hoped to hell the guy didn't have an itchy finger. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Oswald's shirt, jerking him back up to kitchen-level. "What the hell are you doing? How did you get in the basement? You're supposed to be at the house with Joe!"

Oswald cowered in Don's grasp and looked pleadingly at him. "Yeah. About that, dude. He's kind-of down in the basement too."

The agent had lowered the shotgun and Don took a step backwards, dragging Oswald with him and groaning. "Please don't tell me you brought a 15-year-old kid to a live crime scene."

Oswald reddened. The way Don said that, it suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea. "I may have screwed up," he admitted, miserable. He looked over Don's shoulder at Megan, hoping for a friendlier face. "But we got Frank, man! He's down there too, and he's hurt. I think he needs some help…."

Don roughly pushed Oswald to the side and used one hand to stop the officer who was had been about to start down the stairs. "Hold up, hold up. We don't know that it's secure, idiot!" He glared again at Oswald. "What about the other guy? Jason?"

Oswald looked at his feet, suddenly frightened that Don might throw him in jail and leave him there to rot. When he spoke, his voice was tiny. "I think…I may have planted a shovel in his face. He ain't movin', much."

"Holy shit," Don breathed. He motioned to the agent teetering at the top of the stairs to continue down. "Watch your back," he instructed. "Megan," he shouted over his shoulder, "David! We need some back-up over here!" Much as he wanted to go down himself, Don stayed in the kitchen with Oswald, moving him even farther away. "We have ambulances on site," he hissed, still sounding angry. "I can have EMTs down there in less than 30 seconds as soon as I get the all-clear."

Oswald was growing even more nervous left alone in the kitchen with an angry Don Eppes, and it was starting to affect his stomach. "Oh, man," he almost-whispered. "I'm sorry. I guess I wasn't thinking."

Don finally let go of Oswald's shirt and let him bounce backwards a few inches into the wall. The federal agent crossed his arms over his chest so that he wouldn't be tempted to shoot the little John Wayne wannabe. He drowned and arched an eyebrow. "No shit," he finally agreed. Then, almost against his will, Don grinned. "Damn, Oswald. You planted a shovel in his face?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

With Frank, Alan and Charlie still being examined nearly an hour after their arrival at the hospital, Oswald ended up dragging Joe to the cafeteria in an effort to distract him. Kittner was anything but hungry, himself – in truth, he still felt as if he might throw up. He insisted that Joe get at least a sandwich, however, even if he was sticking with ginger ale. By the time the two had reached a table, the smell of food had done its job. Oswald nearly forced Joe into a chair, mumbling something about the bathroom, taking off in an odd, stumbling speed-walk.

An elderly woman at the table nearest them made a noise of sympathy. "Poor thing. Who are you boys here for?"

Joe dragged his eyes from Oswald's quickly-disappearing back and looked over at her, startled. "What? Huh?"

She smiled reassuringly, and spoke in a confidential tone. "I'm here for my grandson. About your age, I think – always liked racing dirt bikes, of all things." She shook her head sorrowfully. "He took a bad spill."

Joe smiled faintly, finding himself drawn to the older woman. "He'll be okay, I hope. My brother used to be really into dirt biking, and he crashed all the time." His smile faded and his voice grew sad. "That's not why he's here now, though."

Suddenly, the woman's eyes widened. "I know who you are," she said excitedly in recognition. "I've seen your picture, with your father. I remember showing it to my grandson – the two of you were on the sidelines at a dirt bike competition, watching your brother, it said. You're Fenton Hardy's child, aren't you?" she asked. She smiled happily, nodding. "Yes, I'm sure you are. It was several years ago, and you've grown up a lot, but I'm sure it was you!"

Joe nodded dully, looking at the ground. He hated it when people mentioned his father, and he found himself liking the woman less. People were too impressed by bought-and-paid-for publicity. They always thought Fenton was a saint or something.

The grandmother didn't take note of his discomfort, and rattled on. "Oh, I couldn't believe it when I saw it on the news upstairs in the waiting room. Fenton Hardy, arrested. Murder, kidnapping, God knows what else – I couldn't hear it all, I was so shocked. Here I always thought he was this saint, helping the entire nation. I can't even begin to imagine what your family must be going through!" Her face clouded. "Oh, dear. And your brother hurt, too. Your poor mother!"

Joe spied Don entering the cafeteria and he catapulted from his seat. "Don!" he cried, not caring how quiet the rest of the people in the room were. "Don!"

In a few brief strides Don was with him at the table, looking around suspiciously. "Where the hell did Kittner get to this time? I knew I shouldn't trust him to bring you down here."

Joe actually fisted a hand in Don's shirt and tugged. "How's Frank? Have you talked to my Mom? How's Charlie, and Uncle Alan? Oswald's sick."

Don gently removed the young Hardy and settled him in the chair again, sitting opposite him. "Calm down, kid. One question at a time, okay? What do you mean, 'Oswald's sick'?"

Joe shook his head impatiently. "I think. He took off for the bathroom pretty fast. What about Frank?"

Don sighed and glanced at the woman at the nearby table, who was gathering her purse and keys. "You take care, now," she smiled to Joe. "I'll be praying for your family. My grandson should be out of surgery now…." Without waiting for an answer, her hand fluttered in a wave and she was off.

Don looked back at Joe. "Okay." He was all-business now, wanting to get back to Charlie. "Frank will be fine. He has a slight concussion, bruised ribs. He's dehydrated. He's understandably an emotional wreck, right now – I can take you up to his room, when he's settled – I think that will help you both. Your Mom should be here soon, she's on her way."

Joe wanted to bolt for Frank right away, but he honestly was concerned for everyone else. "What about Charlie and Uncle Alan?"

Don hedged. "Dad's made out of rubber, or something. He took a header down two staircases and all he has are a few cuts and bruises. Because of his age, the doctor wants to keep him overnight and run a few tests, but when I left he hadn't won the argument, yet." Joe's eyes clouded with worry at what Don was not saying. Finally, the agent got around to his own brother.

"Charlie…Charlie's a mess. Broken arm; several bruised ribs and one cracked one; Grade 3 concussion…thank God the bullet wound to his shoulder is a graze. It could have been a lot worse."

Joe lowered his eyes. "He'll be okay," he said in a small voice. "They'll be okay." Don didn't answer and Joe went on. "That lady said it's on the news. She recognized me."

Don groaned and ran his hand through his hair. Great. Better tell the kid before he saw it on television. "Damn vultures," he grumbled. "Listen. Jason…Jason killed himself in lock-up. Megan just called me 10 minutes ago, but you know those vultures will have it soon."

Joe's face hardened. Both he and Frank knew how evil Jason could be. Jason had "watched" him a few times after Frank had been kidnapped, and he didn't like him one bit. It disturbed him a little when he was was glad to hear about the man's death, and he purposefully changed the subject. "Maybe we should check on Oswald, and then you can take me to Frank."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Joe leaned his head against his mother's shoulder and watched Frank sleep. He gripped her hand tightly and felt the pressure of her head resting on his, and tried to concentrate on what was good.

It was good that Frank would physically recover.

It was good that Joe and his mother would be there to help him recover emotionally.

Joe would not think about his father, or Jason, or Jeff, or even Aunt Gertrude. It was very difficult not to think about Aunt Gertrude, for he had never even suspected that she was part of his father's organization. She had confessed, faced with the mess her brother created, and still Joe could not believe it.

But he had to stop thinking about all of that.

He had to watch Frank breathe.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

As predicted, the doctor lost the fight with Alan.

Don sat next to him watching Charlie sleep and consoled himself that at least Alan was in the hospital, even if it wasn't as a patient. He was close to help, if something happened.

"He should be awake soon." Alan's soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "The sedative they gave him when they set his arm should wear off any time."

Don nodded. "That's good, I guess. As long as he doesn't wake up in too much pain." He inhaled deeply and confessed to his father as if he were a priest. "I wish I'd listened to him at the start of this case. Geez, Dad, if you hadn't have taken in Frank, Charlie and I would still be fighting! I said there was no way in hell that one man could manage a string of over 50,000 people. I guess I was wrong." He sighed. "Now we just get to tie up loose ends for five months."

Alan made a stab at humor. "That's 10,000 people a month, Donnie. Fairly impressive solve ratio."

Unfortunately the focus on numbers only served to depress them both further. "Why can't I be a better brother?", he whined. "If Charlie were any other consultant, with his credentials, I never would have…."

Alan interrupted him. "Don, stop now. Just stop. We can 'what-if' ourselves until the end of time on this one. What if I had been wiser in my choice of friend? What if Margaret and I had been more alert back when Jessica disappeared? What if all Charlie went through back then haunts him forever? Why wasn't I a better father?"

Don stiffened in his chair. "Now who's being ridiculous? Neither Charlie nor I have ever felt that way about you – or Mom, either! As for Fenton – that's on Fenton. Maybe it was money. Maybe it was power. Maybe it was fame – or all of the above." He lifted his head in determination. "Charlie survived what happened to him and Jessica, and he will survive this. You and I? We'll make sure of it."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Major thanks to FraidyCat for the beta Sorry to say I'm closing this book at twenty chapters. Sequel's in the works, though.._


End file.
